


A Pinch of Larceny

by IronPanda



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Hobbits, Bilbo is the Thain of the thieves of the Shire, But they always return stuff they don't need, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, In which there is no Smaug attack, Intertwining stories, Kingdom politics, M/M, Making up festivals, Multi, Possible Character Death, lotso UST, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/pseuds/IronPanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take a hobbit and his band of thieves.<br/>A chamber full of gold.<br/>Layer in the possibility of execution.<br/>Garnish with political fervor and scandal.<br/>Blend vanishing envoys with the simmering spice of war.<br/>And stir it all until the consistency is thick and unpredictable like blackened smoke.</p><p>Risk Sautéing or grilling, but never let sit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, the story I've been wanting to make for a while. It's going to much shorter than my biker AU, and the cast is totally different but I'm having fun making it. So I hope you all have fun reading it as well!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the media related to the Hobbit.

**A Pinch of Larceny**

Prelude

Hobbits don't know how long they've heard the whispers about The Society. They just know that the members are there, and have been for hundreds of years, and that several branches of families were linked to the hidden collective. It is not spoken of past the edge of the woods, because it's their only way of maintaining the upper hand. They may be peaceful folk, but they have learned that didn't mean the other races around them would be equally as amicable. 

The Society contains only the most curious and light-footed of Hobbits. Those who demonstrate a specific talent and could be 'shadow-walkers' traveling invisible to most.  
And as always there are ways to live by, to keep themselves separate from the other black markets of the big folk. 

There are six codes:  
Respectability is only gained through proof.  
Keep your knives sharp, and candles burning.  
Never do business on Saturday.  
Steal only what you can obtain, and always return what is greater importance some day.  
Wise are those wary of outsiders, so tread softly.  
Avoid killing by any means necessary.

 

**I**

 

A blond hobbit clasps the bronze buttons of his cloak together, and shrugged on a brown pack, stuffed to the brim with scrolls and a spare quill poking out. 

_“I’m looking for someone to share in on an adventure.” The stranger says two worn hands gripping the wooden staff he leans on._

Bilbo glances up at the first portrait of his mother that hangs on the wall, her the cleverness of her pixie smile as evident as the warmth in her brown eyes. Then he looks at his father’s matching portrait, a hobbit who fell to illness too early, and sent Bilbo’s mother to grief. They were an odd perfect match, and though he turned the other cheek to his mother’s dealings, he never discouraged it. Even when Bilbo showed talent.

_“Just a companion, it would be to the great Kingdom of Erebor, it may benefit your people of being recognized by the dwarfs.”_

A dwarf kingdom? He couldn’t bring an envoy to that. It was too dangerous, and no hobbit would want to travel that far. There were too many risks.

_“I knew your mother once you know, and before she passed she sent me a letter, she had advised me to seek you out when I saw fit for wanderings.”_

His mother had met a wizard, and seen elves, she said she fulfilled her ambition and the happiness that she set out for herself. Her list of contacts was ever long.

_"A shame you know my name but you don't remember I belong to it.”_

The hobbit wraps from his left knuckles to his wrist with a green ribbon, lights a candle, and steps out of his door to make his rounds.

 

He had a day to make the decision, and a few hours to inform his friends of his choice.

_“I will see you at evening time tomorrow Mister Baggins. I know you will follow your heart in the matter.”_

 

The green door of his smial was closed, but he turns around at least twice ready to just walk back in and forgo this insanity. It was a nice simmering time after sunset, hardly a hobbit trudged by along the pathways, he could just turn around-

“Bilbo Baggins, I see you are ready for our little adventure.” The only tall figure in these parts startles him out of his twitchy considerations. He looks towards Gandalf who stands unassuming as usual in his draping grey robes.

“Y-Yes I don’t seem to have forgotten anything. Even got my handkerchief.” Or did he? He had swiped it off his evening table along with another roll of bandages. But that might have been the other day when he slunk with his envoy all the way to Bree for a meeting.

“Well then come on, you can settle yourself on the back of the cart, we have a long trip ahead of us, and we are on a rather tight schedule.” Gandalf had begun to walk away from Bag End, and Bilbo scurried after him.

The wizard’s cart was there at the end of the path, with a grey sheet over a large pile in the back, and his chestnut mare sturdy and patient in the front.

Three other hobbits were by the cart already, and Bilbo drew back his shoulders, while Gandalf looked down at him with a curious eyebrow raise.

“Evening Thain Baggins,” the first, a hobbit lass, spoke (and he winces at the title), putting her hands to her hips. She was wearing a dark cloak as well, and her hood was down, brown curls gathered at the top of her head. Hooked to her side is a small bright green parasol.

“Evening Lobelia, Hamfast, Rory,” he bowed to his three friends, formalities over- confusion crossed his face. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think we’d let you go all the way to Dale without an envoy did you Mister Bilbo?” The rotund hobbit, Hamfast, asked. Bilbo notices his full brown satchel, no doubt with many herbs.

“It’s my trial-“

“And not a single Thain has gone alone before, just because it’s far doesn’t mean we will sit back like the other guild members.” Rorimac reminds him though his body language was the most relaxed out of the three companions. Lobelia crossed her arms before her, a superior look on the young hobbit’s face.

He tries again anyways. “Hamfast you have fauntlings at home, I can’t ask you to leave them.”

“Now Mister Bilbo, no one is askin’ me to do anything, I left ‘cause you need an Apothecary, and you are my closest friend. Bell understands, and it will be hard, but she can handle without me. It is how things are done in our society, I’m not expectin’ no special treatment.” Hamfast drew up his full height, which was just a tick taller than Bilbo, and the honey haired hobbit shrinks back.

“I suppose not. But I may be gone for a year, or longer, and I can’t ask you to do this for my own-“  
“Oh it’s not just for you Bilbo. “ The lass says, and then she looks up at Gandalf. “I trust you have room for us?”

Gandalf sputters a bit but he does smile. “Well, although you are unexpected, I do believe I do.” Bilbo looks sharply at the taller wizard, his face asking ‘really?’.

“Mister Baggins, it may be to your benefit to not be the only hobbit present. I think this will provide quite the amusing trip.” The wizard’s voice drops at the last part of the sentence, but his blue eyes shone with assessment and curiosity. “Well everyone onto the cart, I do not like being late. “

“Will there be time for supper?” He hears Hamfast ask as he jumps into the back of the wagon, finding himself a corner that didn’t have a popper sticking into his side.

“You may have to do without your usual meals Master Gamgee, and possibly quite a few more things that the comfort of the Shire provides.”

“So why are you going to Dale, wizard?” Lobelia asks.

“Why for the Durin’s Day festival of course, it is a couple weeks of celebration, and I am to provide fireworks. It is one of the most splendid occasions.” Gandalf sounded so light hearted and convincing, but Bilbo’s ears twitched, there had to be more to it than that.

“Hm, can’t be better than our Lithe holiday.” Lobelia scoffs, and Rory looks up from his knife that he was cleaning to shake his head at her. Rorimac was the more silent type of Brandybuck, those brown eyes were always gleaming with a sort of cleverness that Bilbo envied. The blond hobbit knew his kin’s talent to be his sight.

“Perhaps not, but I think it would be very different.” Bilbo says taking out his leather-bound journal as they settled on a smoother path in the woods.

The fresh smell of parchment and drying ink was something the hobbit craved. He would run his fingers over the pages he's filled, the stories he's covered, flipping and flipping until he got to that last sentence.

The start of it said: 'And he wanted' and it trails off, mocking him that it hasn't been filled yet. Bilbo sat back, just as the road hits another bump in the cart, and he closed the large leather book, wrapping it with a thick twine. 

He looks up at the settling purple dusk of the night, his hand comes to rest on the only dagger attached to his hip, the thick hilt is rough, with the same engraving it’s had for years, of a hollyhock. His mother’s flower, the reason she became Thain of the thieves guild. She got to meet elves, and steal the circlet of the leader of their kin (Of course following code she returned it only a few years ago).

Where does he even begin?

Hamfast looks over at him in concern. “It will all go well Mister Bilbo, you’ll see.”

Lobelia leans over one of the crates from the other side, and looks between the two males.

"Rumor has it of a gem that contains the stars. And mountains upon mountains of gold, the dwarves hoard these things." Loeblia raises an eyebrow at him, the impish smirk of a child on her face, her voice is low but Bilbo thinks Gandalf might still hear. In true Bracegirdle fashion, she would be wanting something besides her reputation out of this journey.

"Rumor also has it that the kingdom is the most heavily guarded of all Middle Earth, and dwarfs covet their gold jealously.” Rory says and it’s the end of the matter.

 

Whispers traveled far of the city of Dale, and of the Kingdom of Erebor. Even the Thieves Guild of the Shire had heard of it. And talk began that if anyone was willing, or adventurous enough, to establish themselves there, they would surely prosper and have an unmatched reputation as a thief. Bilbo was not any of those things, but his trial told him he had to be. His mother passed a couple years before, leaving him in line as Thain, but also with a precedence that he must match. He pretends to be a curious Took when his Baggins side said 'You could have just headed to the Blue Mountains, somewhere closer, easier. Not much is there.' Instead he was with an old friend of his mothers who was on a trip to Dale.

He didn't know how much Gandalf was aware of hobbits true nature.

They don't have armies, they have spies, they work in the shadows, and they pop up when least expected, and least often wanted.

Tooks- as the most adventurous sort- ruled as shadow walkers, and some of them became thieves. Baggins rarely involved themselves in the underworld of the Shire.  
“So what is the road we are taking, Gandalf?” Rory asks as they pass Bree.

“We are taking many roads, Master Rory, our path leads us far to the east. To the Lonely Mountain.” At least the wizard sounded excited.

Bilbo sighs and leans his chin on his knees, his giddiness is being muddled by his own doubts. He may not know what he wants, but he knew what he didn’t.

 

 

Their arrival came within a few weeks of rough road and lots of green. Bilbo never wanted to see another mountain pass any time soon. 

Their envoy pulled into the city of Dale, its streets were busy, cramped, and large. The buildings towered over them in such a foreign manner it was unnerving.

There were the occasional guards clad in gleaming armor, and more than the occasional intermingling of humans and dwarfs littered around. It was bright, sunny, and quite opposite of the serene peace of the rolling hills of the Shire. The decorations were something to marvel; bright colored kites, many wires hanging bubble-like lanterns, and all the doors had metallic paints of different variety. 

Bilbo was the first to get off the cart, but not the only one of his envoy to stare wide eyed around them. Even if they were receiving stares right back as a pack of little folk, with one tall man who had a pointy hat and a staff. It must be an odd juxtaposition.

“Follow me, we mustn’t get lost too much in the crowd. We have to find our lodgings.” Gandalf motions to the hobbits.

"How long will you be staying Gandalf?" Rory asks he had become most fond of the wizard in matters of the mind, and getting answers.  
On the ground they find themselves dodging quick moving figures, market sellers offering things, and just trying to keep up with the Wizard's cart. But Bilbo was thankful to have his shaky ground craving feet out of it.

"Once my business here is done- which by the reputation of dwarfs, may take a while. " Gandalf halted the horse at a tall crammed inn set between two (possibly homes?) structures. Nothing was in a hill, there was no green inside the city, the ground was paved with thick stones. 

“I thought you were here for fireworks.” Lobelia prods.

“And of course you are just here for the adventure.” The robed man winks, and Bilbo’s heart lurches, the elder does know something- he had to. Did he know Lobelia stole those three spoons from the elves? Or that Bilbo may have taken a small book from the library. 

“Now we will be staying in this inn that is right at the heart of the festival, you can take advantage of the favor the owner owes me until you find yourselves some better lodging.” Gandalf suggests leading them to the moss green building. The lettering of the title says ‘Salty River Inn’.

Gandalf had left his horse in a stable, and led the hobbits inside an inn that smells like ale and spices. It was not so seedy, and sort of reminded Bilbo of the Green Dragon, a favored meeting place for thieves. He clutched his leather bound book close.

"Ah Gandalf, fancy seeing you in these parts after so many years." A man spoke, he looked like most men as they were past of age, his belly was rounded, crooked nose prominent, hair- line receding, and scars evident. Bilbo noted the thin belt that the man’s large hand often rested to. Possible coin purse location-

"Aldrich, I will be needing three rooms for a little while, I take it you have some open?" Gandalf titled his head down at Bilbo, and the man leans over his glossy counter, seeing the little hobbits for the first time.

"A companion this time? And hobbits? I haven't seen one since I was last in Bree. What brings you this far Master halfling?" Aldrich said looking first to Bilbo who stood closest to Gandalf. He could feel Hamfast fidget beside him.

"He is here just for the festival, and academic purposes." Gandalf pipes up, saving Bilbo the discomfort.

His room in the inn is small and musty, with dim lighting. It has a singular table, a rather tall chair, and the bed was at least decent sized for a hobbit. He set down his book on the table, and unclasped his cloak with a heavy exhale, letting it fall to the ground. Outside his window, just past a tower, he could see the mountain, not much, but enough to ground him, enough for him to know he'd be able to continue that sentence. 

He would have to write a letter (His companions families must be worried, and the other guild members must be curious.) and have it sent out as soon as possible. Surely there was some form of post, he has to ask Gandalf, but for now the hobbit plops on his bed, and curls up.

A bed, it has been weeks since he slept somewhere besides the cart, and he missed his books, his garden, he missed Bag End.

“You’re here now Bilbo Baggins, no turning back. Just find something to do, and get the job done as soon as possible.” 

 

Hamfast wakes up the next morning wanting potatoes, he just wanted them crisp, simple, lightly buttered and golden. And he looks around his room, just trying to come up with a starting point for food.

“Do you think they take our money?” He asks his two companions.

“I don’t know, but we can ask Mister Gandalf, he might know what money they take.” Rory says with much consideration.

“And we can just borrow what we need until we get something going.” Lobelia cuts in, and Hamfast frowns. He never liked much her terms of ‘borrowing’ that meant stealing from the person, you couldn’t just give it back.

“I ‘spose I can trade some of my herbs to a shop keep somewhere.”

“And I did bring an extra pipe or two.” The eldest pulls out two finely carved pipes from his rustic sack. He nudges Lobelia.

“Fine, I will try and barter something of mine, not my spoons though.”

Hamfast sighs in relief there is a chance they won’t starve, he would hate for them to free load off of Mister Gandalf. The wizard has already been so kind to bring them here, and keep them safe on the journey.

At least they have gotten to rest, and he was very curious about the marketplace, but his belly was aching, and his mind buzzing with nervous energy. He was sharing a room with Rorimac and Lobelia, although it’s not proper to share with a lass, she would probably kick him in an unpleasant place if he brought it up. Of course Mister Bilbo got his own room- that was higher priority- they agreed on it against their friend’s wishes.

Hamfast worries about the smaller hobbit, he did not doubt his skills at all, but his friend just didn’t look like he wanted to be anywhere anymore. Since Thain Belladonna passed, he gets this far off look in his eyes when his trial is mentioned.

The Apothecary gets off of the bed and gathers up his satchel. “I’m going to go wake up Mister Bilbo.” He says to the other two hobbits.

Two knocks on the next room door, and then another and he got no answer. The gardener huffs, he was not very good at lock-picks but there was a worry Mister Bilbo may be in some sort of trouble, so he takes out one of his small scalpels and wiggles the weak knob loose.

He pushes open the door to see everything neatly folded, and their leader nowhere to be found.

Oh no, this is just wantin’ for trouble. He runs back to the next room and can hardly get the words out in time.

“Mister Bilbo has gone missin’.” They would surely miss breakfast now.

“Oh be bother that son of a Took.” Lobelia jumps out of the bed and pulls on her cloak. “He couldn’t have told us first?”

\---

"Lad I'm not suggestin' you do that." Frir says to his red head partner who is crouched atop the edge of a tall stone building in Dale. The dwarf was poised, his knees bent, spine arced forward, and he stood on the fronts of his feet. His hazel eyes sweep over to the dark haired dwarf besides him.

"What's for not wantin' a little bit of fun?" The braced dwarf asks. 

Frir frowned behind his thick mustache. "You go on ahead, I'm going to stick to the normal path."

"Slim pickings for you then."

“Never slim pickin’s durin’ the festival.”

“You’ve got no ambition then.” The red head smirks, his beads glint at the height of the sunlight, and he jumps. He lands feet planted on the next roof, and the brown clad male runs and leaps the next gap of the roof, he lands once more on the shorter building, and at the edge of the rim he looks down, the gap too large to the next structure, and the streets below were packed.

One chance, there was a cart moving towards him at a slow speed. Some guard hoard, probably low trade seeing there was only axe wielder there. Just his luck.  
Nori leaps at the timed moment and lands deft on the cart. Well shit that actually worked, no broken bones for him today.

Yes, Nori of the Ri line had self-proclaimed unmatched skill.

Now to get off this damn thing, he turns around, and there is another 'creature' in there with him. 

“Well I can’t say I was expecting that.” He refused to get ruffled, though this almost did a good job of it.

The smaller 'male' hides away behind a crate, quicker than his eyes could track, but there isn't much space on this vehicle either way.

"You're a hobbit." He says low, he's come across a few of the creatures before. 

They're suspicious of outsiders, soft- looking and rare, those pointy eared little halflings.

Soft blue eyes rove over his body.

"And you are a dwarf." A voice snaps, almost unheard. Nori cracks a small smirk. 

"Here I thought I was original." He tries moving closer to the blond. "Using a kingdom trade cart to get where I need to go." wide eyes are still flitting over his figure mistrusting.

“Well I was here first thank you very much.” The cloaked Halfling snips.

“But you’re going the wrong way.”

The blond furrows his brow. “What- no I’m not.”

"The market is that way." He continues.

"I know, I'm going to see the kingdom."

"Why would you want to go there? It's a disaster, and no fun to add."

"Why’s it a disaster?” The hobbit looks twitchy, with his round nose, and set frown. Nori noted the hand position under the brown cloak, the halflings carried weapons?  
Shire-folk weren't his personal forte.

“Oh just Durin day stuff.” On the outside at least, man Dori would kill him for talking with a non-dwarf about it. "Well I'll be seeing you around hobbit, avoid the guards with the big metal bracers, they are better trained." He figured to help out a fella, even if he had his suspicions.

“Wait why?”

 

“They have a habit of trying to hack at intruders with their axes and then asking questions later.” He watched the small round face pale, and winks.

Nori jumps off the cart to duck into one of the last alleyways before the bridge to Erebor. He struts through the crowd, joining random passerby's by bleeding in, snatching the coin purse of the first wealthy man to brush too close. 

Another much smaller figure skirts around him, almost unseen. He would mistake them for a child if; first two others didn’t just follow, and if they didn’t have the traits of the larger bare feet, and developed bodies. More hobbits? He noted not many others were looking at the obviously foreign creatures, maybe made too blind by the festivities. He slinks after them, and watches as they pause through the crowd each looking different ways.

The she-hobbit with them turns looking frustrated. He watches a tiny hand reach out and snatch a shiny pocket watch from a person who gets near enough to her. She flips it open and reads the face, says something, and the three are off again.

He’s good at pinpointing what they want, but he never thought the shire folk to be competition in these lands.

\---

Frerin had a special place in his heart for the Durin’s Festival, though as a prince he had to spend more time in the shadow of dignitaries being diplomatic, it was also one of the biggest celebrations that anyone and everyone cut loose for. Dwarfs did not dance, except for when they have been drinking enough ale during the holiday to let their beards go and intermingle with the people around them. And even the days leading up to the festival had the tall stone halls of Erebor painted in excitement and variety.

The prince was walking down the familiar royal corridor, a place he’s been his whole life, when he passes he surly older brother.

He wheels around in his boots, and stops the elder dwarf. “By my beard, Thorin why the face?”

The same shade of blue irises he shared looks at his hand that was bracing the older by the bicep, and then up at him. Now would be a good time to prepare if his brother were to draw his sword.

“Father.” The crown prince growls, his brow getting even surlier.

“Ohh.” Frerin lets out the word slow.

Thorin yanks himself from the younger’s grip, a snarl on his handsome face. 

“I don’t see why he can’t accept-“ His brother huffs through his nose like a steamed boar. “In front of elves no less.” The braid of his beard ticks side to side.

Frerin winced in pity. “Well I’m taking the boys to the market, you could clear your head with us.” He widens his arms in invitation, gold plated braces glinting in the light.

“I’d rather not run the risk of being ordered by father to ‘find myself a match’ while I’m at it.” And with that Thorin continues his trudging down the hall, past his room. He must be headed to the sparring dome, and Frerin hoped it was at least Dwalin fighting him or no dwarf stood a chance at the moment.

He shrugged his shoulders and continued to his sister-sons’ room. Father hadn’t been impressing upon him to marry yet, but he was much younger than Thorin, and not crown prince. Thorin has had the burden since grandfather passed, and even if Dís did provide further heirs, unless the spouse had passed away the king is expected to have a consort.

He tugs at right twin braid of his beard. Best to stay away from his brother for a couple hours.

He poked his head in the mess that was his nephews’ large room. “Fili, Kili, where are you beard tuggers?” He heard swearing coming from the silver walled room that was connected to this one , and decided to try his luck there.

And there were his two nephews in a tangled mess on the ground. Kili was biting at Fili’s leather covered arm, and Fili was hitting the brunette’s hard head. 

Frerin sighed and dove in at the two teens. Fili was almost of age, and Kili not too far behind, and yet here they were wrestling as they did when they were babes. It’s kind of expected from Durin siblings.

He had both by the neck.

“I don’t even want to know what it was this time, but you’re lucky it was me and not Thorin. He’s in a foul mood, Mahal help us.” Frerin looks between the blond and the brunette both who were still glaring at each other. He pushes them to their feet.  
“Well that is, yet again, another destroyed rug, woven from the fine fabrics of the west.” He shook his head at what remained of the piece mangled on the ground.

“He started it.” Kili bit out, which Fili was going to refute if his uncle had not covered his mouth in quick thinking.

“Come on you two, we are going to the market. It’s good for some of our line to show their faces besides Dís, lets get ready to go to the gate, yeah?” He didn’t wait for the protests and instead lead the two out the room, pushing square in their backs with his palms, down the jade stone halls. 

“But Uncle Frerin I don’t want to go to the market.” Kili close to whines, Frerin rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care I’m taking mercy upon your room, one would think you two were raised in the wild.” He feigns chastisement. 

“Anyways, come on there’s fun to be had. Flirt with some lasses.” He shrugs. “Or lads. All the pretty ones come out for the parties.” He raises his eyebrows at his nephews. It at least earns him a grin from the two, even if they still are simmering with whatever they were arguing about. Frerin struts up to the first guard by the gate, the jingle of the many beads attached to his large black ponytail braids matching his boot steps. He could hear his two nephews trying to match his pace. And he remembered when they used to try and copy his and Thorin’s walks when they were young. Fili was a little closer to his, and Kili to Thorin’s. 

“We are taking a trip to the market. We should be back within the next few hours.” He tells the first guard as the gate is opened for them.

He won’t deny there are some positive points to the open air, he still preferred the deep crevices of the mountain, but the sun was a sort of beauty that couldn’t be matched. 

“Do you think there will be elves at the market?”

“Don’t let anyone hear you ask that, Kili.” He teases, knowing of the boy’s attachment to archery.

“Can we stop at the Salty River Inn this evening?” Fili cuts in.

Frerin eyes his gold haired nephew. “And why would you want to?”

“They have the best ale.”

“And when were you last down there for a drink of ale.” Frerin crosses his arms, and Fili looks at him with confusion.

“You took us there.”

“Right, well then there we will go,” He can say he tried. “Just don’t tell your mother it was me! And try not to scare off any of my interests this time.”

“You’re just afraid they’ll like us better.” The little ingrates exchange superior smirks as they cross the bridge. 

“Like in hell they will, everyone loves me. I’m the loveable sibling of the three.”

“Thought that was Uncle Thorin.”

“No he’s the grumpy one, people just like him because he’s mastered a certain look.”

“And what’s that?”

“A bit of majesty without trying. The ass.” Frerin figured he couldn’t be blamed for the language they had picked up through the years, Dís was worse than him.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple wants, simple gains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thank you for the feedback in kudos, comments, and even views last chapter readers!
> 
> So the long time coming(on my part) Chapter 2. I've decided to go with a few strange structures, and of course mess around with canon versus my own headcanon and other foolish ideals.
> 
> The P.O.V's of each chapter will continue to switch to almost every member of the company, and then interlace at the end, ind of like how they are pushing the story along now. The only thing that won't change is that Bilbo will be followed every chapter, and so will Thorin once he comes in.

**II**

 

Mahal bless him, Dwalin is bored. He would never mention it aloud, but he preferred doing lower rank patrol in the market, catching criminals who thought they were too good for his axe, than performing shipment watch. But he was one of the captains of the Kingdom Guard and he should remain where most of the Line of Durin is.

"Another shipment of greens." Hogun says as he waves a stocky arm to the cart driver. Dwalin grunts, in response to his fellow guard, with half a care for vegetables (Unless they were seasoned properly and accompanied by meat.). He shrugs his stiff shoulders, underneath his thick armor and knuckle-dusters there were many sore bruises. He had just finished a quick match with a very enraged crown prince. He really did appreciate his best friend Thorin, and the opportunity to test his mettle at any given moment, but his temper tantrums were legendary. In fact the only Durin heir who did not seem so quick to anger was Frerin. 

Under hooded dark eyes, squinting beneath the early afternoon sun, he surveys the stuffed cart as it crosses by. Not many valuables in that thing. 

An uncountable number of slow minutes later he felt a tap on his shoulder. Hogun stands to full attention, and Dwalin turns.

"Lady Dís-" he stands with his shoulders drawn back in respect, and bows a fraction before the beautiful royal.

"Dwalin. And how are you?" The princess starts with her usual formalities.

"Nothin' to complain about." The captain of the guard says.

"And how goes the gate watch?" There was something more in those blue eyes, and many a time Dwalin was lead to traps of mischief by her because of it.

"Slow day." He regrets saying because her smooth face brightens. 

"Good then you can join Thorin and I at the market."

He raised an eyebrow at the female, something must have gotten her intricate braids in a knot because Thorin was in no mood to leave the kingdom. "The market?"

He wouldn’t argue too much with a chance to leave.

"Yes don't be slow now Dwalin, Thorin needs to get out of these stone walls they are suffocating him, and my sons are having more entertainment than me."

"Shouldn't you be planning the First?"

She strokes the shiny little mithril clasps on her beard that lines her jaw. "It is planned, now stop dawdling." She motions for him to follow down the familiar hall of the Royal Quarters, no doubt to fetch her brother, and he trails behind the rich purple dress.

In the corner of his peripheral something flits by in the furthest edge of the outer walkway. He stops and grips the axe at his waist, sharp wary eyes scan the empty stone ground of the area.

"Dwalin, hurry your boots before my axe rusts." Dís' sharp voice breaks him out of the trance. 

Was that a shade? Dwalin’s supersitions were always on high alert in the mountain. Not that he would tell anyone.

They walk the jade stone hallways, under the familiar cool tall ceilings, a few servants shuffle by- heads bowed, as well as guards began marching down some of the other walkway options, even under the watchful eye of their captain. As they near Thorin's room the dwarf population just gets more and more sparse.

"He did not tell me what King Thrain said to him." Dwalin says as he watches one dwarf near run by carrying shorn clothing.

"Father was rather blunt with him, and it resulted in Thorin being a sore arse. His pride took a blow today." Dís said in such a simple tone. Dwalin knows the rumors are untrue of the Durin siblings being cold and unfeeling towards one another, instead they know each other so well that it is hard for them to be sympathetic. 

"Really he should-" A roar echoes down the hall and cuts her off. Dwalin grips the handle of his axe and picks up the pace to the open doorway.  
Thorin was standing in his room, in full royal blue garb, and his breathing was labored as if he were trying to calm himself. He was picturesque majesty in the enormous circular room that was normally clean; right now a table was turned over, and many weapons lay on the floor as if he was searching for something. His dark beard hung unbraided.

"Are you ready yet?" The middle sibling crosses her arms.

"I already told you I am not going to the market." Blue eyes dart up to his sister's face.

Dwalin relaxes, though something was still amiss.

"The servants refuse to come down this way, and you should give them time to clean." Dís reasons, and she walks up to her brother- ignoring the way he tries to break free, in favor of straightening him up. "Stand up straight- even Frerin is out Mahal knows where with my sons, probably teaching them treachery and debauchery, you need to get out, come on just for five feet at least." She starts, with expert hands, to weave the braid in his beard.

"Where is your clasp?" 

Thorin growls, a hilarious picture of a surly tamed wolf pup, looking like he’s holding back a snap. After that one time Dís hit him with the dull hilt of her axe at his forehead he did not fight her when she fussed over him. Dwalin thought that was a wise decision. "I cannot find it." Was what Dwalin thought was mumbled.

"I'm sorry annunciate. That must be where Kili gets that barbaric speech from." 

"I. Cannot. Find. It."

"Well where has it gone?"

"It was on my weapons table, I left to wash my beard. And it was gone."

Dís pauses. "Oh, well perfect time for us to go to the Dale market and get you a new one, for now you will look untamed because that braid will not last."

Dwalin watched as both siblings walk past him out the room. Thorin's brow was dark like a scolded child. The Captain did not contain his laugh this time; it lifts from his hard belly to his cheeks.

"Shut up." Thorin shoves him with his shoulder, none too subtle. Dwalin shoves back, taking a bit of advantage of his height. The fight continues until Dís turns around and glares at the two.

And they are a hundred years younger once more.

Again as they near the gates, he swears he sees a shade by one of the leaving carts. And it gives him a shivery pause. He tries to place some logic to it.

He nods at one of the Erebor Guard members, there was plenty of patrol out that day, and his brother should be heading them. The idea was impossible.

No thief gets by the mountain guards.

 

 

Bilbo counted himself lucky that cart had apparently had some good vegetables on it, he was able to nibble on a few to quell his aching belly, for he had a feeling he wouldn't be eating for a while.

The Kingdom of Erebor was larger than any dwelling Bilbo has been in. The walls make so many sounds and they were so high getting a grip on the stone was a risk he wasn't brave enough to take yet. He had slipped off the cart down one of the outside pathways, and noted Dwarfs had many excessively large things he would be able to hide behind. The thief pulls up his hood, his heart hammering like a rabbit out of its burrow.

There were so many pathways with so many options, how did they not get lost? He hears the thud of several marching feet, and the first thing he does is dart down a long dark passage. 

He did not know how far he got, trying to avoid so many of the clunking guards that wandered with their varying swords and axes, when he saw him. A dwarf in one of the richest midnight blue coats. He must have been wealthy for all of the gold he wore, and by the fact he had stamped into one of the rooms with an expression of a person ready to gut an orc king. 

Those cuffs were gold, as well as the few rings he had, and the beads in his long wavy dark hair glimmered a pretty contrast of silver. Bilbo had never been so fascinated by a such a straight nose, and strong jaw. It was strange, because dwarfs were hairy, and hard looking, but those cerulean eyes were so alive. The hobbit risked peeping around the column he hid behind, and crept closer to the thrust open room.

He heard the clank of heavy metal hitting the ground, and a low growl emitted from the object of his curiosity.

The Took inside him itched, he wanted something from this man.  
It was a foreign feeling, to want something he did not need. As a respectable hobbit he had no need to act on flashes of desire, he had to contain himself against the improbable.

He ducks again in a ball under his cloak, glad for the darkness of the halls, when a few servants come running out of the room. The room itself was the size of Bag End's dining area, with much higher ceilings. He watched large hands remove several rings, and shrug off an enormous fur- emitting a graceful strength that made the hobbit wish just for a moment( for what he did not know). Then the long braid on his beard was loosed with thick fingers, the clasp placed on the table in neat order next to rather dangerous looking daggers, long swords, and axes, from as far as his eyes could see. His blue eyes had never seen so much muscle and he felt shameful for looking, though the dwarf was not nearly naked with all the dark layers of clothing.

The hobbit had known for a long time, since the playful tween days of the Shire, he was a bachelor who preferred males to females. But just how much that translated to a ridiculous notion based off of aesthetic-

“Get a hold of yourself Baggins, do not carried away over physical aspects.” He mumbles as low as he can. It was just a bout of thirst that needs to be satisfied so he could move on.

Then the tall dwarf leaves to an adjoining room, and Bilbo's want climbs even higher into impulse, his feet move before he can think clearly, and within a minute he finds himself darting in the shadows further down the hall, clutched in his small palm a silver clasp.

There he comes across a big room, and stops himself from running too far under the influence of an adrenaline rush. 

There are two guards on either side of a low staircase that leads to a large gold door. It is ornate, etched with some of the most beautiful and harsh, raised carvings. He hides behind another thick column- when the guards step aside- believing he was caught. Instead the two doors open, and a dwarf with a long gold laced beard walks up the steps with several axe wielders following his thick person. He has more rings than the handsome royal, and a large crown upon his brow. Bilbo's mouth fell open from the glimpse he caught, the entire room behind the assumed king had to have been the span of the bowels of the mountain. And it glittered of pure gold.

"-eal the door- won't be coming out." Bilbo's ears perk as the King speaks. There is something ominous and forlorn that hangs off of the words Bilbo could catch. Something else is said, in a blocky sounding language, the dialect made Bilbo shiver in unfamiliar intimidation.

Bilbo spots a set of small stepping-stones that decorate up to a square opening. It must be some sort of tunnel. The thief slides his prize in his pocket, and waits for the king to get far enough down the hallway. He takes his chance to move as the guards are sealing the door, it sounded as if a million locks were being turned and switched, and the noise was so immense he was able to climb without much worry of being heard. 

Down the crammed air duct he crawls scraping his knees on the rough rock of the mountain. He was still a fine line away from total hysteria. Why did he try this alone? Why did he have to take that shiny piece? He was a Baggins confound it! Why _why_?

He shoved away the image of the owner of his new token. Nope. Nope, not going there. 

 

In a few knee bruising moments he is outside the stone walls, on the extensive pathway ledges, the breeze almost blows off his hood, and the chill makes him want to wrap his arms around his person, but he needed a way out on the bridge without being seen. Another pony led cart, this time a bit more empty, was leaving the bridge. In the distance he could see the gate doors opening.

And oh dear there was the man he stole from, along with a very large dangerous looking guard with a multitude of ink splayed wherever skin was exposed, and an imposing female who also seemed to have a small axe looped to her hips. Just his luck.

Dwarfs were most certainly a violent race. He gulps, and takes a leap of faith as the cart trudges past, climbing as clumsily as he could on it. When he was curled up enough in the space he takes out the bead and rubs his thumb against the surface, it is etched with dark runes but gleams in a way no metal has in the Shire.

The dwarfs of Erebor seem to have so much they don't need.

The blond lowers his hood as the cart passes the bridge, and closes his eyes, his heart slows to a more peaceful thump. He was going to lose years off of his life by the end of this, if he survived. In the market Bilbo was careful to try and act natural as he crawled out of the cart.

He started down the busy streets to their inn- already hungry again, and missing his friends. He had hoped they moved on without him and found a way of locating some provisions. Maybe that is what he could do currently.

"Bilbo Baggins." He was eyeing a booth that had baskets of golden looking rolls when he was thwacked in the head.

"Ow." He rubbed his skull and saw Lobelia, Hamfast and Rory. His attacker had her umbrella in her arms, poised for another smack that he would hopefully be prepared for. "I'm sorry were you all looking for me?"

"Were we? Of course we were you dunderhead! You vanished from your room without telling us." His attacker accuses.

"Where did you go Mister Bilbo? We were looking all over for you." Hamfast asks with an arm full of a large basket suitable for the race of men. To Bilbo's delight it seemed to be piled with foods.

"I went to the kingdom."

Rory's eyes scan over him. "You scouted?" Bilbo nodded. "And found something." Trust the Brandybuck not to miss a detail.

Bilbo looked around at the busy crowd, the bread seller was eyeing them from his high position of height, and Bilbo decided it was best to go down the tight alley. It turned out to be one of those connected to the strips of canal, bodies of water was something the hobbit did not want to be near, but it was better privacy.

"I did," his companions lean in and he looks at them with flighty wide blue eyes. "The walls are high, and the halls dark. Easy to tread in, but it is cold and there are so many guards with axes, we are likely to be killed if caught."

"If caught." Lobelia repeated with a haughty tone. "And what of the stone?"

Bilbo shook his straw curls. "I did not see one, but there was a door, it was gold, and sealed, and I caught sight of the inside, the dwarfs have so much gold I believe half the mountain to be hollowed out for riches." He watched Lobelia's eyes brighten, Hamfast sucked in a breath- something uneasy, and Rory stayed the most unreadable. 

"Have you decided what you want?" The eldest inquires.

"No, there is something going on there that makes me uneasy."

"Oh be a Took Bilbo, you said it yourself, they have stuff they naught need. A little cup, a stone, you've already started for us." Lobelia stood up straight, and Bilbo chews on his lower lip and reaches in his pants pocket to clench the bead. "We will hardly get caught, have you heard the way these big lugs walk? Even their women trudge with a gait to be heard from far away. And their fancy jewels clink along with them."

"We can try something else if you are uneasy Bilbo." Rory says.

Bilbo feels the bead tight in his palm, the surface warmed by his grip. "No," He looks at the three. "Keep your ears open and your steps light, listen out for rumors of celebrations, of a day that the mountain is near empty-" He hears a shuffle in the dark balcony above him, and ducks away behind a barrel. The hobbits followed suit without question, each choosing their own hiding place. 

They've been overheard; someone heard them and went on without saying a thing. Time to find Gandalf and panic all the way back to Hobbiton.

A familiar figure drops down to where they were standing. The lean, lax dwarf sticks a hand in his pocket and directs a hazel eye in Bilbo's direction. 

"Don't stop on my account- your talk- it was getting very interesting." The dwarf says twirling a knife in one hand. "Come on, no need to hide now, if I wanted to do something I would have killed at least one of you a while ago. Blip, right through the heart." It was the one who helped him before, with his strange star like auburn hair, and triple impressive beard braids.

Bilbo stood up from behind the barrel, giving up the fight.

"What you're planning, is something I want in on." The dwarf continues.

"And why should we let you?" Lobelia says from behind her crate, umbrella poised in her hands. Rory too had his hand on his knife, and Bilbo was ready to use his throwing daggers.

Of course just to knock the invader out.

The dwarf holds up his hands, with blade still in his grip.

"I could use that in my repertoire. You need information, and I need a bit of fun." To Bilbo he sounded sincere, but he may be a dangerous silver tongue. "And you need me, Miss hobbit.” 

"Why would we need a noisy body like yours?" Lobelia does not back off.

The spy looked unruffled. “Because I know each and every day of the festival, and the significance of it. We dwarfs are secretive, you won’t hear much besides from the mouths of men when the kingdom is truly empty. You are just aiming to get caught without the right information." 

"To his credit, he is the only dwarf we haven't heard coming." Rory whispers to Bilbo, and the leader sighs. Not really wanting to get involved in this web, but he holds out his hand, the one without the clasp, to the dwarf.

The red head takes it, warm leather engulfs the hobbit’s hand, with a satisfied smirk. And then he bows. "Nori, at your service."

"Well welcome to the Band of the Thain, Mister Nori. Come on, we have to head back to the inn it's getting to evening, and I still don't trust you." Lobelia hit the dwarf sharp in the side with the pointy end of her parasol, drawing an irate glare from the tallest compatriot. Bilbo had a feeling Lobelia was going to draw the ill will of every contact they have, it’s a miracle only her intended Otho Sackville- Baggins can really tolerate it for more than a days time.

"How did we not hear him coming?" Hamfast tries to ask quietly.

"Because Master Halfling, I pride myself in being the best, and most curious, at what I do." Nori explains, causing Hamfast to nearly jump and spill his basket. 

“Tell me, Mister Nori, what do you plan to gain out of this?” Bilbo said.

“The riches of Erebor don't go fairly to every dwarf. Despite the rumors.” That light tone sounded not too simple as he tried to give off."Which inn are you lot stayin at?"

"The Salty River." The apothecary responds.

"Ah that one, they've got the best ale. And the most delightful drunkards on this side of the city."

 

 

There are a few words that shall never be uttered in Westron, Khuzdul, or even Sindarin and they are "Bofur of the family of Ur dislikes ale." 

The twin braided dwarf is a simple miner of simple wants.

He has codes in life to live by: music, mining, family, and drinking, he believes if he followed those main frames, he would have less to complain about. (Though he is considerin’ dropping his main trade for somethin’ a bit more light hearted and less painful on the back.)

And nothing can compare to the Durin's day festival ale. It was a gold colored brew that he had no trouble saving up his coins for. He started the afternoon at the Dwarven locale The Golden Axe, but he figured to end the night with a good trip around the market, and then a little woodwind playin' (if the mood allows) in the Salty River, where his brother was likely consuming the house pies.

Dale was not the friendliest city, but Bofur found himself in a good enough mood to greet all who meet his eyes.

The inn and ale house was more packed than usual (which was saying something'), with mingling dwarfs and men. He had seen an adventurous elf once or twice, but that happens almost never. But ah it was comforting to smell the strong brew from the kegs, and the salty familiar smell of too many drinking bodies. Dimly lit, glossy wood table tops, sticky floorboards, this was a home away from home.

"Bofur!" An arm wraps around his shoulders as he was heading to Aldrich’s bar.

"Look who has left the jade halls of Erebor to mingle once more with us humble folk." His grin dimples as a face smashes close to his, and beard beads almost take his eye out with the swinging movement. He stumbles over his boots at the weight. "Now let me stand Frerin." 

He looks at the prince who is grinning good-natured with ale in one hand, and the other still on Bofur's shoulder. He fixes his hat from being just a fraction askew and allows himself to be dragged to their usual drinking table. He still was surprised every now and then that a prince would be in an inn, drinking with the rest of them, but their band of ale aficionados was a rather eclectic bunch. And with sporadic attendance to boot.

Seems only his brother was already set at the table with a pie, his large orange braid is covered in crumbs just like his belly. Gloin may not appear this night, and he knows the other two said they would be back after the First celebration.

"Evening brother." He greets with a little wave, Bombur smiles cheeks stuffed, and soon after a pint is shoved into his hand by his handsome friend. He accepts it without a complaint. 

"Tell me miner, are you going to the First party? Because I don't want to be bored stiff without someone to entertain me." Frerin says after he gulps down the bitter brew.

Now that was something he hadn’t decided on, that party was for those wantin’ a little drinkin’ and a high chance of a good fuck. 

There weren’t too many cons to that prospect- if he was up for it.

"Only for free beer." He yells as noise rises around the area. Some men have started clapping, dwarfs also joining in an increase of a general drinking song beat. Atop a center table were two young dwarfs leading the noise without so much as a tune, but they were good-natured enough. It probably helped they were quite fresh faced. 

They looked a little familiar, the handsome creatures were just barely with beards to call their own. One had wild brown hair in need of a few braids, a pup's grin, and just the dusting of a beard. The other who held up twin pints in his hands had more of the rarer fashion of gold hair, and a finely braided mustache. Both had rich dark fabric clothes, and their attitude was so earnest it made Bofur want to reach for his flute . So he did, and when the tune followed along with the words of a 'whack for my daddy-o'. He was spotted by a set of clear blue eyes, and he gave the lad a little smile from his flute. The look he received was too open with curiosity.

At the end of the song Frerin was roaring with laughter as the two young ones jump down, and he puts his arms around both. "Bofur, these beard tuggers are my nephews, Fili and Kili. I was worried for a moment, that they wouldn’t be a delight to celebrate with."

Both of their faces are flushed from drink and singing, but they are able to do a simultaneous bow and 'At your service.' Once out of their uncle’s grip. When they stand back straight, Fili has the most pleasant smirk on his face.

Bofur gave them a little bow, with his beer still in his hand. "Nice to meet more royalty in the Salty River, hope you're not as much of pissers as your uncle." Bofur laughs when the eldest Prince smacks his padded brown shoulder him. "Oi watch the ale, don't want any of this free liquid to spill."

"I should make you pay." Frerin threatens voice not devoid of humor.

"Nah Fre' You want your drinkin' buddies around too much, if Bombur and I weren't here, you'd look pathetic and sad most of the time." The hatter fluttered his eyelashes. "Here, here. Lads, your Uncle is a wonderful man, and the best prince I ever knew, appreciate him." his voice is dripping with honey. And he tries to ignore how intense the blond's stare is.

Too young, too young.

"I'm the only prince you knew until now. No matter -Told you everyone liked me." Frerin says the latter statement to his nephews.

"I see, we give people free stuff, and we get to call them friends too." Fili teases his uncle, and he looks at his brother when he says it. Kili grins mischievous.

"Can we have yours then?" The brunette asks, now taking Frerin's stool which was by Bombur. 

The second in line frowns. "Hey no get your own you little biter."

Bofur was to add in his own commentary when a body collides with his own. A smaller sort of body. 

"Oh I apologize Mister-" Bofur almost misses the quiet statement.

"You're a hobbit!" Frerin exclaims, obviously havin' one too many ales. The round, curly haired creature looks like he's ready to dash. He must have been a he, despite the lack of beard, because a lass moves in front of him, her own brown curls long and spiraling down her shoulders. She looked no more than a tween.

"Why do you dwarfs keep remindin' us of what we are? Yes, we are Shire folk. Now please accept my friend’s apology, so we can move on." The female says with quite a bite to her.

"Apology accepted." Bofur gets out, trying to cover up his own staring, The princes didn't bother at all.

"Here for the festival then?" Frerin moves up to them, and the quiet male is shrinking back. "Such a far way from the west." He tries to smile with charm at the two.

The female looks at him like he’s an unimpressive dishcloth from Aldrich’s pile.

“Ah please excuse my hobbit friend.” A familiar furtive voice says. Bofur raises an eyebrow at Nori. Now one could say he has a strange collective of friends, since everyone knew the copper colored dwarf dealt in the shadows, but the lad gets the best deals in any alcohol around.

“Nori, been a while.” Bofur grins and holds out his hand for a familiar clasp of friends.

“Only a week or two right? Been avoidin the inn until that little group of salt traders left.” Nori answers not looking at him since their grips broke apart. Bofur followed the green-eyed man’s line of sight to where he was eyeing a confused Frerin.

He gave the dwarf a warning glare, and he gets an ‘innocent’ smirk back.

“Talk on your own time dwarf.” The hobbit lass says. She grabs her timid companion’s arm and drags him away without so much as a care towards talking to royalty. 

They watch her disappear in the crowd, and then reappear at another table with two other point eared fellows. Nori shrugs and follows suit, thankfully not stealing anything from the inebriated prince. As far as the miner could see.

Bofur let out a concealed sigh.

"Those were hobbits?" Kili asks. "I think mum would have liked her. Little stuffy though."

"They really don't wear shoes." Fili muses as if all the rumors about halflings were coming to life in one encounter.

"They're so small." Bombur says for the first time this evening, though he is still munching on his potpie.

"Strange things." Bofur muses to no one in particular.

"Maybe interesting things." Frerin finishes Bofur's statement with a sharp smile under his neat dark mustache.

They all clink what's left of their mugs together, and take the liquid back. Bofur tries to avoid watching Frerin's gold hair nephew- it doesn't do to covet what you are not worthy of.

And those sly pink lips just spelt trouble.

 

 

"Out drinking with my brother doesn't mean you two can sleep in." Uncle Thorin's voice cuts through a rather pleasant dream Fili was having about a warm brown bar, even warmer brown eyes, a flute and a hat full of character. He cracks open his eyes to see the crown prince in full royal garb, and ceremonial swords strapped to his waist. "Wash your beards, and set your braids, that's all you have time for. We need to be by the gate for the Commencement."

Kili groans from the spot next to Fili, his voice still threaded with sleep. "Mmmph.” He clings closer to Fili’s side. 

Fili kicks his brother's deadweight away so he could crawl from the bed, still under the sharp gaze of his surly Uncle. He blinks a few times to focus his line of vision, which happens to zero on the now iron, instead of silver, clasp on his uncle's signature tied beard.

"What happened to your beard clasp?" Fili asks with a yawn, he takes a moment to sniff himself and grimaces a tick- he smelt like yesterdays scented soap with a layer of ill concealed beer. 

Thorin glares and shoves him towards the adjoining marble room.

He evades the question. "You are going to be late." Thorin yanks Kili out of bed forcing the brunette to stand on shaky legs.

"Hey what about Uncle Frerin."

"He already got his due payment." And something in his tone makes Fili move quicker to ready himself in the washroom; it was that cruel tone that promised amusement for the dark locked heir and pain for them. "Now hurry up or you will be sparring Dwalin and I tonight."

"We spend a lot of the time sparring with you and Dwalin." And losing.  
Fili yanks at his brother's hair to hint for him to quiet.

"I'm just sayin' it's nothin' new." Kili was complaining while Fili was trying to neaten his bush with at least two thick braids. Fili felt a hand in his own hair and realized Thorin was finishing up the one braid he dropped in favor of trying to get his little brother ready.

 

Once with their silver lined royal tunics on (Kili in a lighter blue, and Fili in a darker green). The brothers walked side-by-side following Thorin's boot steps down the hall. Candles were lit on every other column for the occasion, and the delicious smells of a feast (involving warm breads, spiced meats, and plenty of cakes) wafted from the kitchens, stronger than ever. Fili's mouth waters and the blond caught the sound of his brother's stomach growling.

They look at each other then flank Thorin. "What time in the day is it?"

"When can we eat?"

"Please tell me we will eat before the ceremony."

"Uncle why aren't you responding to us?"

"Uncle do you want us to die?"

"Be quiet, or I will kill you and explain to Dís later. You are late enough as it is, to give you time to eat would be an insult to the court." Their grumpy Uncle looks between them. "Go grab yourselves a roll each from the kitchen, don't make me wait too long or you will be doing diplomat duties."

Both young ones scampered as fast as they could.

Fili was dying in his seat, and he still tries to remain as stoic and regal as possible. Kili was already slumped in his identical stone chair. The Commencement ceremony is really just a bunch of dignitaries talking about the order of business for the festival, and building up their thanks for Mahal, and other monetary things that a young dwarf could give a damn about. Giving up the good fight he pulls out the knife from his boot and starts to pick under his finger nails with it. He was glad to not be in line for the throne for a long _long_ while- barring any wars. 

His mother snatches out from the left and takes his knife without so much as breaking character. He hears Kili’s airy ill concealed laugh next to him, and stomps on the younger's boot.

Now cinnamon brown eyes were glaring at him. He smirks and pretends to be enraptured with the grand gold decorated circular room. 

He wondered how his grandfather could sit there hanging off of every word and respond back as if it were a delight to hear. 

Would he become like that when he gets old?

He feels a poke in his side, and he looks sharp to Kili.

They begin making faces at one another until he hears a familiar growl. The corner of his mother's mouth was downturned in what promised to be a snarl, and both sons sat upright.

 

The end had Fili and Kili flinging themselves on the cold tile when the seat members left. They switch off and on with the same speech they have said in the last two years, though with different theatrics every time.

"Thank Mahal."

"Not again till next year."

"Yes. We have survived."

“By the skin of our poor ears.”

"Brother, hug me." Fili sits up on his knees and readies himself for Kili's tackle.

They lay there for all of ten seconds before a red shoe kicks them in their sides.  
Fili looks up to his mother -a picture of ruby red above him, and both smile wide with innocent toothy grins. Her hands are on her hips, and his knife is in one of their grasp.

"You want this back, you get up and get ready for the party tonight." She says in feigned sweetness. “You too Kili.”

Fili scrambles up, Kili continues to stay draped on him, and he makes grabby hands for his knife. His mother rolls her blue eyes and hands the blade over.

"Act your age." Thorin warns from her right. And that’s when Kili moves from dragging him down.

It was a slight bitter thought his younger brother was taller than him. Only by a little, he still swore to be the bigger on.

"I dunno I found it nostalgic." Frerin counters nudging his elder brother. 

Fili has the sudden desire to ask about Bofur, without being too obvious of course, because a smooth talking handsome lad like himself was never too obvious. 

The thought in itself made his mouth go a tad dryer. His youngest uncle would laugh and say he just had a tiny crush that needed to be squelched. And maybe it was true.

Maybe he was just fascinated by the gentle genial attitude of the miner, he was just so opposite of most of everyone around here in his mannerisms alone.

Was it too much just to fantasize a little?

His mother was gazing at him with a raised eyebrow when she caught his uneasy expression. Uncle Thorin looked like he would speak again when their Grandfather interrupts.

"Thorin, I need to speak with you." Grandfather Thrain walks up to his family wearing the traditional gold colored King’s cloak, and doesn't seem to notice his heir's slight change in expression. From grumpy to sullen.

"Yes father?"

"We need to talk about courtship."

"We have already spoken about it-" Uncle sounded like he would impale his beard on a kitchen knife.

"And I have told you, you cannot continue on as my heir showing no interest in a partner. The kingdom is looking in with a watchful eye on worthiness.” The King warns, despite the audience of the rest of the family. “You know my terms."  
And he leaves the room to join his council members in discussion. 

“He acts as if I will be taking the throne any time soon.”

“I think he’s just worried for you.” Dís tries to placate. Uncle Thorin’s expression does not change. “Especially since the campaign to Moria with the dwarves of the Iron Hills is coming up.”

“Yeah, you need to get under someone’s sheets, or someone under yours.” Frerin shrugs. “May get that stiff ass of yours loosened before battle.”

Fili and Kili's snicker in the background.

Thorin growls.“I can take the mines without the need of a consort, those are political games I need no part in. Just my blade.” And the eldest walks away.

“Maybe Uncle Thorin’s just not interested in anyone.” Kili suggests.

“Really, not in the entire kingdom? No.” Frerin shakes his head, giving off he knew a deeper reason than he let on. Their uncle never did continue his statement.

If there was a dwarf that chose to remain in his trade, and that would wish to even give up the throne if only to remain loveless. It was Uncle Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> I was playing with a lot of elements this story- hence why it's going to be slower updates than my other fanfic and the chapters will be much longer- like Bilbo being the one to fall head first without thinking he'd actually see Thorin again.
> 
> I dunno I think I like messing with the dynamics of the royal family if they actually got to keep their kingdom.
> 
> And now all the other pairings are coming to light. I'm experimenting with Dwalin actually not knowing of Nori besides complaints from the market patrol guards so it'll be an interesting dynamic when they actually do meet.
> 
> From this point the story hits the ground running. Especially in terms of the couples involved.
> 
> Remember I'm always accepting of discussions or feedback on tumblr as well!
> 
> Next time- The 'First' party. Basically the festival begins, and things heat up heist wise and 'couple' wise.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is a tricky little thing to dodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys Guys, I’m so excited that this is out of my brain. Like forreals, all mistakes are mine and such but take it cause it is finally –snaflkndalf-. 
> 
> All the buildup is getting a little palpable, but everything is on the table, from this moment forward the most involved characters all have been mentioned in some way, and they are slowly blending together. Next chapter is going to be as long, and probably live up to the rating.
> 
> Now I hope you enjoy! Warning there are minor OCs that really are inconsequential for the most part.

**III**

 

 **The First celebration** : The public commencement ceremony of the Durin’s Day festival.

 

The halls of Erebor were always high and slated with a cold air underneath all of the rock. It is a great city, the Grey wizard would admit, a formidable fortress that has the ability to formulate alliances at the risk of darkness. If only the stubbornness of dwarfs wasn't just as legendary.

Gandalf had patience many did not and it was something needed in this congregation on the First of the Durin's Day festival. The Dwarves host the unusual meeting in a circular room of stone, with stone seats occupied by an audience of twelve including the current King of Erebor himself.

"Lord Girion II died at the hands of Orcs while he was nearing the Misty Mountains." Gareth, one of the advisors of the men of Dale, says. "And you want to focus your efforts on Moria."

"There have always been goblins and orcs in the area, and in Gundabad, attacking them there would be foolish." King Thrain counters.

"We have quite a bit going on in our borders. However Orcs are never a race to lie and wait. They crave war." The elf advisor says. 

"You think we do not understand Orcs?" Thorin growls from his father’s side.

"We are focusing our efforts on campaigning to reclaim Khazad-dûm." Balin explains, his own voice more placating.

"Might I suggest, that you find a way to balance the two." Gandalf cuts in. "Strange things are happening, from the old fortress to the Greenwood. It would be best if you did not remain caught off guard in case of an attack."

"Erebor is the most protected fortress of the lands. It would not an easy battle to defeat us." The king says as it is fact. His youngest son is oddly quiet during the meeting, and the wizard had been hoping for a different voice from the dwarfs side.

Gandalf sighs internally, and grips his staff. 

"So you mean to leave us in the case of an attack? That Dale would be the first means of defense for you, truly." The other Dale representative Ciaran does not hold back his youthful quick irritation. Their dark haired leader, a solemn contemplative figure has been silent, his eyes watching each speaker. Gandalf feels some hope is yet for the handsome Lord of Dale: Bard. He was still young yet for a man, and yet the most careful spoken in this summons.

But the men, elves, and dwarrows involved in these diplomatic meetings for the past few days have been butting heads in regards to what they believe to be important. The three races are still too involved in their own concerns to properly listen to one another, outside of the celebrations of Durin's Day, and the trade, war was a sensitive topic. Especially since the rule of Thror and the last impression he had left.

Gandalf closes his eyes as the circular arguments continues, now involving most persons who dare to jump in. Three races of Middle Earth, three kingdoms, cities, realms, with exposed fronts but powerful armies and they will not rise to the occasion until it is too late. 

Or so the wizard fears.

And he knows he is respected from his many names, but it would take his own army to get a decent agreement corralled. 

 

“People are vanishing, if that does not give you reason to act-” Gandalf interjects with the tilt of his head , and the group begins to hush. "You cannot protect against what you cannot see. If you continue to demand from each other what you can't reciprocate then I fear it will go unhandled. You need more than brute force to discover what is going on. That you forget about those people that are still lost- in favor of quarreling- shows that perhaps you cannot get past your own grievances without a little outside push.”

"Pardon me Gandalf, but what outsiders could we possibly hear from? We have all the representation here.” Balin at least looks interested, his pen has stilled on the parchment.

"We have asked Mithrandir here, have we not? We ask for his council and don't take it." Prince Legolas says with the smallest squint of his bright eyes.

"It seems I may need a little backing of my own." Gandalf smiles slyly as he leans on his staff.

"I will listen to no more elves." The King of Erebor mutters without the intent of being too quiet.

"Not elves. You see I did not travel here alone this time. I did bring with me my own ambassadors, some from the West."

"Why did they not attend the previous meetings then?" Prince Thorin asks, always the most suspicious.

"Because, I did believe in giving them a rest before I throw them in this warg den. So if we all are to get votes, and have our own proposals, then I believe I should have my own say. I mean why not?" He means to put a little bit of irritation behind his words. "The hobbits with me shall bring in-"

"Halflings? What do halflings know of war?" Ciaran has the smallest smile on his face, as if he believes it to be a joke.

"That may be precisely what we need.” The wizard bristles just a tad at the disregarding tone the young human has.

Gandalf is now in need of finding a particular group of hobbits.

A wizard takes precautions that he precisely means to, and though by all parties he may seem 'daft' he has his purpose.

 

Mere moments after the initial meeting ends, his clever blue eyes scour the tavern in the set of mid- morning, his hand rests on his staff, and the other holds his pipe. A few of the patrons pay a bit of a glance to him but most must have been out preparing for the day.

"Ah Bilbo," He finds his friend sitting at one of the tables, furred feet dangling above the floor. He knows he startled the hobbit out of whatever contemplation that he may be in, there is a dwarven hair clasp in the blond's pale fingers. One that, if Gandalf was not mistaken, bore the royal symbol of the Longbeards.

"That bead," the instant he says it the hobbit hides it and a round nose twitches caught red handed. "It's runes look familiar."

"Really? I- I found it in the market." The blue eyed hobbit continues to look any which way but up.

"Ah well if I remember correctly such a metal has a very specific meaning, that I cannot remember but it is something similar to only being given to the dwarf's intended if ever exchanged." Gandalf says with a small mischievous smile. "It is a very serious thing to not be with the dwarf themselves, unless it was lost in battle they would not desire to be without it."

"Hnm." A nervous squeak lodged itself in the hobbit's throat. 

"Unfortunate the dwarf lost it." Gandalf says with the stroke of his silve beard.

Bilbo nods once again making that curious noise. 

"Oh Gandalf hullo," Hamfast comes walking up with a tray of steaming rolls and assorted fruits, Lobelia was following with two drinks and Rory with the last two.

"Hello my friends, I take that you have been enjoying your time in Dale." He says in a jovial tone. He turns down Hamfast's offer of a roll or some tea.

"Yes there is quite a large amount of strange food, but plenty of people were willing to trade for our stuff. They speak so quickly however.” The round cheeked apothecary looks troubled. “And t took us a little while to find a tea shop." Hamfast shares after a couple bites of a roll. The normally quiet hobbit seems to be in good enough spirits.

"Ah well, good. Now I have a request of the four of you, think of it as you no longer being in my debt for the safe envoy and rooms." He continues. "I want you to be my ambassadors for the meetings in Erebor."

"What why would you need us? We are hobbits," Lobelia says before tearing at her roll with her eyes narrowed, wary.

"Because the three major locations are Dale, Erebor, and the Woodland Realm, and they have not been able to make amicable negations in the last fifty years. I feel they may need a little push to realize the world does not stop within their own borders."

"So you want us to convince them of that?" Rory asks, inflection dubious.

"Oh no, I just need you to be there, and feel free to speak your minds. It may provide a bit of amusement, and even help in the cause."

“What’s happening?” Hamfast asks once he finishes swallowing his first roll.

“It appears that envoys of patrols and travelers find some of their people go missing, and even in rare cases entire companies go missing. It is sparse but not sparse enough to ignore.” The hobbits appear to pale at his words.

"I don't know Gandalf, this sounds like messy something out of our league. As hobbits, we know only of simple gossips down the lane." Bilbo chews the inside of his cheek, no longer with his curious bead out.

"Hardly a difference." The wizard mutters. "No matter, I have faith you will be of more use than you think, for I’m sure if hobbits only dealt with simple gossips down the lane you would not be here at the present moment." Two bushy grey eyebrows rise.

The hobbits look at each other, and duck in close huddled by the table with whispers. Then they separate, looking quite diminutive in a world with dwarf or men sized options of tables and chairs.

"Alright we will go with you, when is the next meeting?" Bilbo says.

"Why it is sometime after lunch! I have to travel back soon, so eat up and prepare yourselves for a chance to see the inside of the City of Erebor."

"So last minute." The brunette lass complains.

"But what about elevensies?" Hamfast pats his stomach a bit.

"It is a Kingdom, with some luck you may have some food provided, but remember what I told you at the start of our journey Mister Gamgee."

 

Rorimac Brandybuck was still on the fence about the city of Dale. The culture was very different, so very interesting to watch. But very different, and he has a bad feeling about this meeting Gandalf was carting them to. The people of these parts had an alternative, more brash way of handling things and speaking. But he was craving to get inside the city. The night before Bilbo described what he had seen in detail, the expansive halls and many paths. How everyone adorned precious metals. 

Not quite what a hobbit was used to.

They had taken the long trek on foot to the gates of Erebor, and seen so many passerbys already. Dwarfs were larger people in their girth, their stocky manner, shiny beads and many layers of armor. 

He runs a hand through his reddish brown curls to try and smooth them down. What he would give to have one of those strange hair adornments. Like the one Bilbo found.

On a mission thieves were permitted to take something that the owner did not need. Something that seems to not be missed, and he would like one of the many beads. Nothing special, he's seen plenty on the guards, laced in their beards, hanging from the ends of braids and bunching long thick locks.

When they walk the halls he was glad for his feet, though there was no dirt to feel (and boy did he miss feeling the dirt) he knew the stone was quite cold, and would be uncomfortable if he was softer soled. 

Something felt strange, even underneath all the gold of the decorations, and the silver , jade, rubies, and sapphires there was something haunting, beating inside this mountain. 

He fidgets at the beige bandages that wrap around his wrists and palms, almost loosening their tight hold in his skittish behavior. His brown eyes are darting all over, from the guards movements- identifying their axes and swords, to servants and the pace they were moving at. The average dwarf seemed to have something metal on their person at all times. 

He does not miss the looks they receive, even with Gandalf, there is: arrogance, curiosity, disinterest and a combination of the three in the eyes of the race as they are looked down upon in their path to a large iron door.

"Remember to not be too nervous, speak when you feel free, you are no less than anyone else here. You have a right to give your opinion." Gandalf assures them as the guard permits their entrance.

Rory finds it strange Gandalf needs them, it's as if he knows they want in the kingdom, and maybe it is good if Gandalf buys less suspicion for them. The eldest hobbit is aware they would come off as weak. No matter how loudly Lobelia spoke, they were not a race of battles, of war tales, they were hobbits, little folks, secretive, unknown. Seen as an uninspired race, there has to be another reason why they are here. Rory just can't figure out what is going on in the wanderer's mind.

He does not believe a single being in Middle Earth ever could. And yet their band of thieves has done nothing but trust the wanderer.

When they enter light fills the grey room and makes it luminous, all the seats are set in a circle, and made of thick mountain rock with inlaid gems. Rory thinks it's him being distracted by how high the vast ceilings are that makes him run into Bilbo's back, and he has to still himself on his frozen companion’s shoulders.

"Are you alright Bilbo?"

"Y-Yes Rory, sorry about that.” Bilbo's speech is more scattered than usual, mind most likely elsewhere, and Rory takes to looking around the room. There are sixteen seats.

Already a few occupy the space, three extremely fair elves. As elves always seem fair, but two have golden hair and one a more brown tint. The two blond ones look most alike in the eyes. One has a thin silver circlet the other a large crown with orange leaves. 

The King of the Woodland Realm, he has read of Thranduil before. And he knows this may be why Bilbo stills, the Baggins was always fond of elves.

"Thranduil, Legolas, Veryan," Gandalf greets placing a hand to his person and tilting a small bow. Thranduil regards him with a calculative stare, one that of a person who has learned to take care with all they encounter. The younger one, Legolas, Rory assumes, eye's brighten when he sees the hobbits.

"So these are your friends Gandalf."

"Yes, may I introduce Bilbo Baggins, Lobelia Bracegirdle, Rorimac Brandybuck, and Hamfast Gamgee." Each Hobbit bowed in manner of their name called. Rory tries to contain a laugh as Bilbo's blue eyes could not get any wider. One would think he's forgotten the Rivendell elves they met in their travels, and was still awe inspired by the tall ethereal figures.

"Well met." Legolas smiles and tilts his head. "I am curious, why did hobbits come so far east?"

Lobelia opens her mouth (The entire Shire will eventually know how she has grown to hate such a question) but good old Hamfast steps up all quiet speech. "Just curiosity and adventure sir. We were meanin' to see the city after Mister Gandalf told us of a festival."

"Hm. The Durin's festival is probably the only reason to come to these parts." Thranduil says with his hands folded behind his back. His gaze is a lot more difficult to take when placed directly on them.

"The Men enter." Veryan says, Rory assumes the elf with the long ponytail, and squarish jaw, is another high advisor of some sort. 

When the door opens and he hears more footsteps, he now understands why Gandalf feels the need to have some support.

The men who enter are dressed in fine fabric in the fashion of the many people of Dale, one carries himself in a methodical and yet unimpressive manner. Though he is in the center and he has the finest coat and sword attached to his hip. His dark eyes sweep over just like Thranduil’s did.

"Lord Bard," Legolas greets when the man stops but a couple feet from them. The dark haired one returns the gesture with a nod, his face a little softer.

His blond haired elder companion is gazing down at them with open indifference. 

While the younger brunette man- with a most precise beard- just stares.

"Halflings, I never thought to see one before." The one who seems closest to the lord's age says. 

"Well get your fill then." Lobelia quips with the flick of her wrist. "Gandalf can we please sit?"

"It is customary to wait until the officiator of the meeting to arrive. The King." Gandalf replies in good humor, he seems to like Lobelia enough.

The young Hobbit lass grumbles something close to 'Well he should not run late.'

Rory decides, as the door once again is opened, that he much prefers the Shire as a home, for he does not feel so small there.

If the Brandybuck remembers correctly Tooks do have a habit of making tiny sounds of distress when they are thrown in a situation they do not believe they can handle. Because rarely are they not able to handle something thrown at them. However being a Baggins their fair haired leader did not seem to have the ability to handle nearly as much for he did that odd throat clearing noise matched with a furrowed brow when the King and his three companions enter.

The dwarf guards were nothing compared to what Rory assumes to be the royal family. At least most of them. The King was a spectacle of bright blue with mostly gold and a long graying beard. The crown atop his head glitters in a contrast to the thin graceful crown of Thranduil's. To his left is a white haired man with a forked beard and the most jovial disposition of the bunch.

To his right was a dwarf with the same brow as the King's- who wears a darker blue and clasps his beard in the front- he was very handsome in a way completely different from the elves or the men. Rory has yet to see the other for they had been hailed to sit down, the King at sits at the chair closest to one of the few high square windows that lets light upon half of the room. His rings glint under the sun’s rays.

The hobbit finds his feet just barely able to brush the ground when he sits upon the stone chair. He also finds that on either side of himself his fellow hobbits seem to gravitate as close as they can in a protective huddle. In their fine shire vests, trousers (Except Lobelia who somehow managed to fit in two of her best dresses in her pack), and with their hooded cloaks over their shoulders, they are still the most humbly clothed besides Gandalf himself. But he was a wizard, Rory could imagine even in his gray robes he was commanding enough.

Rory takes the breather moment to assess the final being he hasn’t looked at yet.

This male dwarf is shorter than the other dark locked one, and younger than the assumed crown Prince. And he had the smallest good humor smile on his face. He was the same dwarf with the low ponytail from that group that Mister Nori spoke with briefly the other night.

Introductions are given, and the meeting commences.

Rory learns quickly when they speak about politics, all of the leaders have their own personal positive points, but as well as their own faults. Which leads for repetitious arguments in the concern of their own agendas and people. Rory found it all very interesting but tiring. He continues to look up at the hat wearer that was beside Lobelia, the wizard hasn't spoken the entire time and he wants to know what he is thinking.

"We can afford no more guards to the western borders." Was the general Woodland argument.

"We can not guard the borders so few in numbers." Mantras the men, Rory has the instinct they are feeling slighted.

"The Kingdom of our ancestor has been occupied by filth for far too long." The King and his eldest son dispute.

"Gundabad has been far too quiet." Gandalf is the final to add anything for the first time.

Rory watches how the King's hands move, he has many beads in his beard, quite a few were gold, and the hobbit wishes once again that Gandalf had not asked them to be present. Then he could sneak leaving and take what he wishes. His little trinket.

He sits back until his spine presses the stone chain. They are planning something far greater and he ought to leave the silly child's idea alone. He is no longer a tween, patience is something he has to keep. Bilbo has a right as Thain to prove himself with as much as he can gather, but Rory is a simple messenger. 

And he thinks of the night before, that dwarf Nori who promises them that in three days shall be the start of the quarter eves of Durin's Day. To have four days to celebrate seems excessive, but the Kingdom is promised to be more empty, royalty may hang around but there will be time to travel the mountain, to find another way in the gold chamber.

They had all agreed to use whatever tunnels Nori's contacts could get them information on.

Rory felt ill at ease just involving another. He trusts Bilbo knows what he is deciding, for Hobbits often work alone, and not with other races, especially in their own ventures. 

Not many would understand why they always return the things of most value. Which is why no one else need know.

These races speak of war, and wants and so many things. They raise their voices at each other, or in individual cases look down upon each other, and some hardly speak at all. Like Lord Bard, he was a silent figure, he did not speak much and Rory wonders what he wants because he was of the race of Men, he must long for something.

"I'll not have you speaking that way." King Thrain's voice raises and it brings Rory back to the present. "I will increase the guard before that happens."

"So you will continue to shelter yourself in your mountain." Lord Thranduil says with his fingers interlaced.

"You lot seem to have no care for the lives of men." Ciaran has his arms crossed.

"Father maybe we can spare to put a few guards in the outer borders." Prince Thorin suggests, a surprising move for how much he seems to agree with the King otherwise.

"I can lead an envoy if anything." Prince Frerin seems to volunteer but instead of placating his father it draws attention.

"FInally, my son, showing some signs of ambition. And it is against my wishes." The King speaks sharply, and the ponytail wearing prince sits back in his chair looking ready to say something but stalled at the same time. "We have our sights set on a goal, do not forget that. My father has so often talked about Moria-"

“I thought King Thror was also one who vanished? Do you not care for that?” The eldest human has a wry smile marring his face.

“Of course we care-“ Prince Frerin is cut off by his father’s waved hand.

“That is our business to handle, my father would not have wanted us to dwell on it.” King Thrain’s tone is bitter. 

What a strange bearing the dwarf has taken, Rory cannot place his finger on the air and how it has changed.

"Your greed will be your downfall." The darker haired elf cuts in with a monotone voice.

"Take care with how you speak to the King." Prince Thorin shouts standing, and the advisor Balin tugs him back down.

Rory looks to his side, and he can see Bilbo's mouth hanging open just the slightest. Lobelia whispers in the honey haired hobbit's ear, and that signature furrow is set in place. She is plotting something, and Bilbo is looking convinced.

"Why should we spare our trade, and keep our gates so open to your pathways if you are not willing to help us protect them?" Gareth has a sneer upon his aged face.

"Reducing yourselves to threats does not help your cause." Prince Legolas adds, his eerily youthful face looking a tad more irritated.

Hamfast is tapping his fingers on Rory's sleeve, and the eldest hobbit moves away for it was getting annoying though he knows the apothecary is nervous in this setting. 

Rory looks back at Bilbo and the hobbit looks like he is trying to speak, and the Brandybuck shakes his head. No way a hobbit can be heard.

But Gandalf stands. "I believe you all have been speaking in circles enough." A shadow creeps around in the naturally lit room, and the voices dim. "Mister Baggins has been patiently waiting his turn."

And if a hobbit could turn as red as a Grubb's apples in springtime- Bilbo has proven it. He goes from his neck to the pointy tips of his ears, and tugs at the clasp of his vest.

"Y-Yes well, I was simply going to suggest, ah ah-" All eyes on him made it difficult for the Baggins to speak. Rory felt so much empathy for his friend. "A compromise of days, a schedule. In the Shire when we have such disagreements over things, it is good to create a strategy." His voice seems to get stronger as they continue to stay silent.

"Why not, consider a timeline of defenses, rotate maybe? For instance Dale starts first in their guard, and the elves can assist during times their borders seem lessened, and depending on the Campaign to Moria, the dwarf guards can join in reliance on the news given. And maybe you can form a company focused. on the. Disappearances, " The strong idea tapers at the end till the last word is once agains as unsure and timid as the first.

A hobbit is often unseen and unheard, and it may be for the better. Bilbo is looking down at the table, and all eyes are still on him.

The King and his white bearded advisor seem to converse between each other.

"We can keep up the communication, we have discussions with the Dwarfs of the iron Hills first, and then we can expand further after the news." Balin says as he begins writing the script out. The men are talking with Lord Bard in low voices, and the dark haired human shakes his head.

"Send a raven with the news." Ciaran seems like he does not believe in his words too much, but he is accepting them.

Legolas jumps to speaking quite quickly. "My patrol can assist as close as we can to the city of Dale borders a few moments through the days. And I am willing to help if we do form a company regarding the disappearances." The blond prince seems to be daring his father to speak against it, and Rory applauds the gall silently. Thranduil stays with his lips pressed in a thin line, though his eyebrows are curved and face still with no revealing emotion.

And Rory sighs.

Bilbo is looking rather green, but Lobelia is patting him on the shoulder as if her convincing was the right move. But the future Thain has the visage that he may die on the spot.

When the meeting is adjourned, the royal dwarfs ask to speak with Gandalf and the hobbits, and invite them to attend the lighting ceremony. It seems like a formality and Rory just wants to curl up, but they accept like any respectable Shire residents.

And the surly Prince and Bilbo dance around each other in gazes, without a single word, as if they have known each other forever and mix like oil with water.

This world is too strange, even for a Brandybuck to try to understand.

 

 

The First Durin's day party is always Dori's favorite. The silver haired dwarf could find the market in practical full bloom for teas, rare yarn colors, some good combs or beads, and kites.

The kite floats are airborne shapes of glittering or metallic colors. Dori has plans to leave the mountain now that his duties at home are finished. He will take the commoners pass as usual and take care of some shopping if he felt the desire to, other wise if there was one thing he took pleasure in it was flying a kite during the first party- a tradition his mother had started. 

He bustles around the kitchen, putting away teacups in the cupboards and the fine china on the highest placement, everything ordered by category, color trimming, and metals.

He pulls on a coat over his purple tunic and reaches in the cabinet for his favorite maroon bag- he had spent many nights sewing the velvet to a pouch of perfection. The shelf was rather sparse, he continues to feel around and- no it's not there. He bends over to see if it has fallen under, then he steps up to his toes to look on top.

"Hm. That is strange." His coin purse is always there. There is no mistake , it never moves from its space. He would begin forgetting things if they were not in the proper places.

"Ori, where is my coin purse?" He calls, ready to tug at one of his woven braids (but he will not for it took quite a while for him to have it formulated). There was no answer from their small personal study room. 

Dori's mouth twitches and he walks over to his younger brother, where the youth’s curved nose is always over manuscripts, practicing his intricate drawings or calligraphy. 

Dori is rather proud of his brother for getting the apprenticeship with the King's advisor, all of that expensive ink should have been worth something. 

"Ori." He repeats with his more- stern ‘listen to me voice’ his brother shoots up from his chair.

"Oh dear I've overspent my time." The gold and pearly hourglass on the desk was unmoving. 

The young scribe pulls on his own lavender robe over his beige cardigan and starts to straighten out his wispy beard.

"Ori-" Dori draws out the name putting his hands on his hips. "Have you seen my coin purse?" Round startled eyes turn to him. 

"Oh oh, no though I did see Nori by the shelf earlier." The youngest Ri begins pulling on his brown leather satchel and toes on his boots, which were shamefully on the floor next to his chair.

"That little-" Dori steams and decides to search for his spare, he halts himself first, narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin. "Where are you off to?"

"Oh um Mister Balin needs me, to do something." Ori's brown eyes dart around and he smiles, before shuffling out of the door. Dori raises an eyebrow, his little brother must think less of him. Ori is young and curious, he would not be surprised if he was off with some person of interest. Once Dori figures it out, the dwarf will wish they did not come near his naive younger brother without talking to him first.

He pulls out a drawer from the desk, and pops open the under layer inside. It was empty. His eye twitches, and he reaches deep for a box hidden in the wall behind, he stretches straining his arm until it grasps the wooden keepsake. Inside is a little silver pouch. Good that one is not taken at least. He will have to take care in tricking his thief of a brother to make him work for the money. 

He does not doubt Nori will refill both pouches, but by what means?

The Commoners pathway is full of excited busy voices, dwarrows dressed in their finest clothes and golds in the fervor for spending and celebration. Dori meanders the long hall only giving a tight smile to those who recognize him from his days with his old tinkering shop, amongst other talents he had.

The outside air fills with strange foreign spices and perfumes. As usual the market is busy with crowds and he keeps his arms close to him as he pushes past people. The sky is stained with a strange orange and shimmery grapefruit pink, dimming itself for nighttime. Soon the tall posts will be lit with a flame, and the mountain is buzzing from even this distance, four of the castle fires were lit, by the fifth the streamers will be set free and kites raised- and the main court of Dale (the large square space connected to the commoners tunnel) will be open for all to dance and celebrate, foods may be passed around, especially ale, and Dori will attempt to stay in for most of it.

Except the kite dances.

He comes across a large toy shop, Broadbeams, his favorite structure for a few reasons. It is a dwarf settlement strangely in Dale rather than in the mountain itself. But it has the best kites that he has found by far, the craftsmanship has them flying the highest on the thinnest most bright wire.

The shop door tingles when it is opened.

"We're closed." A gruff voice says.

"It is Dori of the House of Ri you said I could-"

"Mister Dori. Hello!" A dwarf's head pops up from the second level where a large toy dragon hangs, the dwarf climbs down his ladder, his black and grey hair a mass, and natural glower soft. "Ye’re here for yer kite."

"Yes, yes Mister Bifur, I can't thank you enough for holding it for me."

"S’no problem," The dwarf lumbers behind the busy counter full of glass marbles the color of gems and more moveable woodworks. The shop is a crazed mess as always with no such order but it contains the most amazing inventions and whirring noises that kept Dori's cleanly preference at bay.

A large brown package is taken out and Dori tries to smother all that is bubbling up inside of him: the elation at being able to feel the texture of the soft order.

"You requested an eagle this time, I think it's one of my best kites yet." It is unwrapped with careful hands and there underneath is his kite, a large magnificent creation with paper feathers all gold and thin purple linings; the beak is curved and regal with literal perfection, and Dori runs a finger over to feel the smooth thick material from the folded wings up to the glassy purple eye that would reflect the flames beautifully. 

“T’was a tricky thing the spool with the wires, yer gonna need more than one to keep her airborne.”

He felt ages lighter just looking at it.

"I will surely have to pay you my entire purse for this, it's wonderful."

"No no, Mister Dori, non' too much just what I told yeh before."

"That is undercutting you will go out of business doing that Mister Bifur."

"Told yah call meh Bifur, was a warrior and miner, no royal," The grey eyed dwarf cracks a smile, and on his rough scarred face it is all the more unique. "And the price is a discount."

Dori bristles. "A discount, for what, I did not read about a discount, was there a sign?" He begins looking around, not sure how he would miss a deal.

"On the house now, just pay don't worry bout it. "

"I cannot take that." He begins to lift his chin. 

"Fine you can pay me by joinin' me for kite flyin', for a friend yeh sure do come in an' out." Bifur crosses his arms and stares with enough force it rivals all of Dori's commanding stares he’s mastered through life. “My good fer nothin’ cousins will be out drinkin’ and stuffin’ their faces rather than offerin’ me company.”

"Fine." He huffs, and hands over the proper coins. The sharp toothed smile returns to Bifur's face. A friend, Dori finds that a very foreign concept, not that he'd admit it.

"Horn should go off soon, lets check if the flame has lit yet." Bifur hops forward clunking old miner brand boots across the wooden floors. Dori picks up his kite and holds it like he used to hold Ori when he was a baby, close and delicate.

Bifur is holding his own magnificent teal fish kite, and just the sight of the two of them seems to draw in a few children around the area, little men and dwarrows alike.

 

Bilbo tried so hard not to stare during that meeting, but he just made a fool of himself when he blurted out his own opinion. The attention of such important figures was all on him- and it was over. He even tried to shrink away, but since he had failed he gave up and decided to spend the rest of the time staring at the object of his utter curiosity, but he on occassion would find the other looking back. 

His name was Thorin, he was Crown Prince, and he was cold and one of the loudest speakers and he gave the sharpest glares.

After the meeting the hobbit was stopped, and met with blue eyes. And they were not like stone, but more like fire. 

The man had said "My name is Frerin, and you're those hobbit’s speaker right? That's what Gandalf had told me, either way. I hope the meeting didn't make you scared of us dwarfs because I will have to remedy that."

He tried to deny and say he was fine but instead he ended up invited to hang out with the royalty of the apparent 'Durin' line. He and his friends were going to be introduced to the ceremony and see the lighting of the final fire, and participate in the feast that preceded it.

It was a pretty great feast, although a little awkward. For the guard with the many inkings had been there, as well as the princess and her two sons, and a few other council members. Basically all dwarfs, four little hobbits, and a wizard who stuck to his pipe and a glass of brandy. However Prince Frerin (‘Call me Frerin friends,’ ) was insistent on speaking with all the hobbits to the point that Bilbo worried the dwarf hardly ate anything. 

 

But that's why he was here now, at a high point that made him very nervous when he looked over the edge, with a crowd of royals, huddled near his friends, but also his space was being invaded by twin beard braids hanging over his shoulder.

"So what type of festivals do you hobbits have?" Frerin’s questions were endless. Did the Prince ask the elves or men these many questions when he met them?

The King sets the column ablaze to a brilliant orange and red. 

"Oh we have one for every season pretty much, birthday parties." He tries looking at the King Thrain as he carries a torch, a crowd is below them. He has never seen so many steamers, and there were some brilliant kites, especially this gold eagle and massive blue fish. 

The toys moved in fluid unison in the orange lighting of the sky. It should smell like fire and smoke but instead it smells like some strange incense- which Frerin had referred to as the special traditional burning in honor of their ancestors.

“Birthday parties? Big ones?” 

Bilbo nods though his attentions were elsewhere.

It was all very pretty and sort of surreal, like he was floating in another part of middle earth, in a sky that looks painted with fancy things of fantasy, way above the reality of the situation. Which was, that these people, and these celebrations, are inconsequential. The only thing he should think on was the objective. 

Horns begin to go off in a boisterous tune.

And Bilbo pushes back his the curls on his forehead to cool off his skin, but a small smile crosses his face as Hamfast tugs at his sleeve. All of the kites were their own show; dancing in the breeze like little colorful birds. And he is dying to record it in his book, add in the pretty visuals before the memory begins to fade in his mind. 

"Come hobbits it's better down there. Especially when your Gandalf sets off his whiz poppers." Frerin leans between Hamfast and Bilbo and with a hand on their backs leads them down the steps. Lobelia and Rory follow on either side, and for once the lass's face is not screwed up in discontent. Instead she seems like the youth she is, with large round eyes reflecting the reddish and gold colors that prevail around the kingdom area.

The crowd below is intimidating as any party, with a smell of ale unmistakable, along with the thick chai spices and fresh breads and just a twinge of salt. It was not like hobbits, there was not much dancing as there were peoples with mugs and arms slung around each other. Though the food is reflective of home in its bounty.  
Some couples were visibly enjoying each other's company and Bilbo's cheeks burn at the sight.

"Here's a favorite spot." The prince tilts his chin forward. 

It was like taverns have taken their insides out, there were many seats and tables for such a collective as not seen before by the hobbits. The Men around were even dressed as fine as they could and dancing. Music of a variety of fiddles, flutes, horns, and voices intertwining in songs he did not understand; fills Bilbo's sensitive ears. Some in a language he did not know.

A crowd besides one long oak table parted themselves for the Prince, and they had so many jewels they provide their own mirror reflection on the jagged surfaces.

Legolas and his advisor from earlier were present at the table, sitting nearby Lord Bard (and the quiet man seems loosened enough by the ale to smile openly), but no other elves were present.

As if noticing Bilbo's curious disappointment (He has yet to speak with the elves beyond the meeting) the blond prince attempts a bit of conversation, which Bilbo is happy to oblige. They talk about their differences in plants and wildlife to a point where Bilbo forgets where he is until Frerin leans an arm on his shoulder and demands the hobbit take an ale. Because their conversation goes back and forth- of Bilbo really not wanting and ale, and Frerin insisting until it was in the hobbit’s small hands- the elf has moved to speaking with Lord Bard again. Something about archery, either way the hobbit was a little disappointed. 

The Prince lets out a shout with his mouth cupped by one hand, oblivious to Bilbo’s plight.

"And where are you off to Dwalin?" Prince Frerin sounds like he is teasing the muscular – with a plethora of tattoos- dwarf. He has a large pottery jug in his hand (‘Celebratory drink size’ as he called it.), though it sloshes half empty so maybe that explains the prince’s actions.

"Somewhere you won't be." The guard replies with good enough humor in his rough voice.  
"Oh- With- with that dwarf with the nice braids who is eyeing you I hope?" Frerin tugs the guard towards himself. "Though that one looks slippery."

Out of curiosity Bilbo looks around the two to see who they are talking about and his expression drops when he recognizes it’s Nori - who is not too far away - his heavy predatory gaze roving over the oblivious axe wielder.

Seems the guard was not aware of Nori’s presence before hand and interest is arising. Bilbo does not think Frerin nor Dwalin knew what the other was talking about (And he wouldn’t put it past the clever dwarf to have set that up.).

"We will see." The guard glances back and Nori has begun to walk away as if starting a slow chase in the crowd. "Doubt you speak from experience," Bilbo can see from under the lantern that the warrior's face is flushed with drink.

Frerin lets go and holds up both hands. "Good luck." A sly grin crosses his face as he watches Dwalin leave with a leering thief, which is the fact Bilbo is sure the royal axe wielder is not familiar with.

"He might regret that tomorrow, maybe.” Frerin is back to drinking from the jug, and he wipes his mouth after some of it dribbles down his beard. With his arm. 

"Dwalin always regrets too many drinks." A familiar low voice enters.

"Sounds like you." Frerin counters to the speaker. Bilbo's heart quickens when Prince Thorin takes the space in between him and Prince Frerin. He had melted from the road obviously, somehow going unnoticed in all of the noise and dancing to make his appearance. And Bilbo's thief anxieties cannot handle it.

He looks away to see Rory and Hamfast being entertained by a dwarf with a rather large kite. It was one of those fish ones, and he seemed to be stroking the scales as if explaining to the hobbits how it works. Bilbo is mildly surprised Hamfast is speaking to the rather rough looking figure, he has more cuts and the signs of a warrior, but it must be the comfort of Rory with him and the ale that has them so far away from their lone leader.

 

Legolas and Lord Bard were standing off with a few other humans in a way that Bilbo thinks they’d step on him first before seeing him.

 

Yavanna knows where Lobelia is. She went off long ago to dance, and by herself to boot but if Bilbo offered any escort she would have smacked him.

"Master Hobbit," A voice startles him to almost dropping his mug. He turns against his will to look to the Prince dressed in that stunning dark blue and silver. His younger brother is no longer beside him and instead being hung off of by a curvy blonde dwarf female.

"Ah yes your majesty?" He is chewing on his lower lip like there are honey cakes on the surface of the reddened skin. He struggles under the intense stare.

"Tell me ,what is it like in the Shire?"

"Much quieter, smaller, simpler with less-" He motions with his hands. "Gold." He finishes hesitant and almost wistful, it has been a harsh few weeks and now he remembers the green hills and expansive planes. The quiet folk who thrive off of gossip, and the simple trips to Bree. Then he remembers his mother, and he remembers the Society. And he feels no lighter than before.

"Simpler." Prince Thorin says the word as if he cannot imagine the views. "And what of your fighters?"

Bilbo shakes his curls. "We have no warriors, we are a peaceful folk, we prefer our gardens and good food to war, there is no reason for more."

Thorin raises an eyebrow. "You remain unprotected for any attacks then. Your race is naive."

The blond hobbit frowns. "We are not naive we just have a preference."

"For gardens."

"A garden is very important to a hobbit, a field, it shows how the land flourishes, if the flowers bloom and the crops are good you are doing right by the community, by the family, and it shows you have a care for the things around you."

"And what of your King?"

"We have no king, we have no singular ruler, I mean the closest we have is a Thain, or a mayor and the like. We are ourselves, and you should take care, your majesty, to not look down upon of us because it is different.." Bilbo crosses his arms and looks away still under the weight of a long stare.

"I have insulted you with my questions." 

His nose twitches. "Why yes, yes you have."

"I meant you no insult. I was merely being blunt."

"That was no better. I have a feeling you dwarfs, men, or even elves are used to resorting to direct battle. There are other ways to fight back without being seen." Bilbo says, and he thinks he spots Lobelia across the clearing but she is gone in a quick moment, and the desire to get away from that heated gaze, from the questions spoken with a low octave, and the still large frame beside him- was great. 

And they sit in silence for a portion of the duration. Bilbo sneaks glances over and notices that he is being stared at, so he tries to school his eyes to the cobbled stones which were covered in pieces of floating papers from kites that blew by in the wind.

 

 

 

 

"This is where you want to be? What about the party?" Ori asks Kili following behind with that satchel of his close, the other hand is being tugged forward weaving through the night's crowd, they duck behind a patch of people to lean against the walls of the entrance to the Commoner's tunnel, its wide mouth of stone, and deep set rectangular grooves leave enough shadow for the two to fit shoulder by shoulder.

Kili looks at Ori under the lantern that floats above their heads. He gives a closed mouth smile that curves his lips in the strain of giddiness.

"You don't like to dance." The prince shrugs. He watches the scribe press two fingers together -brown eyes on his shoes. Kili flicks one of the tawny braids with a swift move of his rough hand. "And you like the quiet but also the fireworks."

Ori smiles at Kili, and the prince feels that dizzying warmth as always (Since he had first harassed Balin's pupil, pulled him aside and blurted out initial conversation.).

He just wants to follow the legend of young lovers. His brother would laugh at him- and Ori might as well, but he wants a kiss on the First night, and he wants it with Ori and at the strike of the fireworks. Then fate sets in motion, or so Oin - the royal healer, had told him one day. The elder often spoke of fancy prophecies and legends while applying stitches. 

Such as the idea that every born being has a story that is weaved with several others, that their number is predetermined and it is an inevitable destiny to befall all the souls involved. And when you feel the tug,that means the story has really begun.

"You've got that look on your face." Ori says with those bright eyes- who's attention the prince could bask under for moments at a time (Fili would say Kili is beginning to wax lyrical poetry by that point.) "It's still there, like you're thinking very hard on something very far off." 

Kili shakes his wild locks and runs a hand through them. "Was just thinkin'."

Ori smiles. 'Well I know that. What about?"

"Stuff Oin says sometimes, weird stuff." Kili was glad to not go further for some young dwarfs came running by shrieking the fireworks are beginning. Kili cranes his head to look outside of the crevice and sees that indeed one is streaking through the sky. He swallows and steels himself despite his shaking hands. 

Ori too, is looking at the fireworks and Kili taps him, unable to use words. The scribe looks away from the burst- curious, and the bright reds play off of his face in such a way that Kili doesn't regret leaning forward and capturing the soft lips against his. The dwarf gasps at the contact, but surges forward with unexpected force tugging at the Prince's front coat in an instant.

They break apart, Kili has a pup’s smile on his face.

"Oh, so that's what you were thinking about." Ori says sort of breathless.

Kili starts looking around his hands flapping at his sides a bit useless. "Ah yeah, yeah. That's it." And he tries to focus on the continuing bursts of colors in the sky, reeking of embarrassment, and he is glad for the strange lighting that is hiding the blush he is sure is there. A knitted hand takes his.

"Ok." Ori shrugs and he turns his attention to the fireworks. Kili grips the much softer palm in his- almost entranced with the idea. 

And to think Fili was off dancing with a bunch of flute players, and Kili almost considered staying sitting on the stool, not trying his luck.

His father used to say that he was the bull headed one, the one who would act first, think later. But he was the one who would most go after what he wanted.

Their father used to say Durins were cursed with allowing themselves to be plagued with desire, but having a perpetual fear to grasp it. Kili finds himself often thinking about his father's few words, he and Fili would discuss it late at night when they were tired from training and princely duties. And they would wish he was still there, and not vanished somewhere in Arda. The thought in itself weighs heavy- even on their mother during times she thinks they are not looking.

His hand is tugged with surprising force.

"Stop thinking so much, I'm starting to get the idea it's dangerous for you. You're going to miss everything that's happening around us." Ori motions his head to the eagle shaped popper that appears in the smoky sky.

 

 

 

The night is late enough as it is, and Thorin has spent most of it dodging his father, and attempting to up his skills in being antisocial. The whiz poppers were only a personal pleasure to the crown prince because they encompassed all noise and made the land silent enough. There were cheers sure, and still the soft tunes of music. 

There was a small gasp beside him that he had barely heard between the streaking fires in the sky. And he remembered the Hobbit is there. He assumes he’s had his questions satisfied, but curiosity still ebbs at his person. An heir does not need to focus on idyllic follies. 

Hobbits, they were all strange creatures with bare faces- even the males. More like little round elves with their pointy ears, but petite frail looking bodies. He did not know what to expect from them, but he would not deny his interest in Mister Baggins' mind. He speaks boldly but then shies behind his words. And there is this pulling at the royal to look less at the bursting colors above him more at how they light the other's face.

Mister Baggins catches him, but he does not move his attentions. So the hobbit starts shifting around on his too tall stool, as if trying to dodge the prince's gaze. He looks at; the green ribbons around the hobbit's small hands and wonders their significance, the dainty gold vest, cotton long sleeves, bare feet, and strange heavy brown cloak over his shoulders. The hobbit's constant shifting has the lantern playing tricks on the dwarf's mind for he swears he sees the glint of something steel beneath that dark covering.

"Is there something you needed Prince Thorin?" The hobbit asks in such an airy and hesitant voice that Thorin is ashamed it sort of pleases him. In those reflective round eyes there is no glint of a knife wielder.

"No Mister Baggins." He answers knowing he is short, and the hobbit pivots his attentions away.

Which is fine, it gives Thorin more time to try and figure the halfling out. 

The fireworks die down, as does the chattering. A final large red streak cuts through the sky, and what bursts from it is a red dragon that swoops over from hundreds of yards above. 

Thorin will admit it is fancy enough, though he is ill at ease with such beasts, the crowds are clapping, and Mr. Baggins is even smiling in a way that lights his face in such a gentle, simple, manner.

"Brother staring is not polite." His sister whispers in his ear, and if he was not used to her he would have drawn his sword, as it was he has jumped off the stool and his hand is to the hilt.

"I was not staring." He says back to her and he glances again at the hobbit, who is looking at them with open curiosity. It would not do if the halfling hears and confirms his sister's nosy suspicions.

"Mhmm." Dís crosses her arms and the smug look makes Thorin say to her 'Go away'. His siblings reduce him to a child. 

"I thought you were with Fili, Kili and Dwalin." He tries to distract her, for she is looking over his shoulder like she has a mission and it is to ruin his life further by actually speaking with the halfling.

"I was abandoned by all, way before the fireworks, and so I spent some of my time entertaining the lady hobbit, she has a certain way of conversation I can appreciate from a young girl. And we also found a rather interesting dwarf who had a great eye for teas, and velvet robes. His beard was most enviable and gorgeous. I’ve invited them to join me tomorrow in the market." His sister flicks his hand, all gestures as she speaks with him. "But now I've come to collect you, it is high time we return to the castle before you get any grumpier."

"I will not get grumpier." He mutters under his breath, and in an unintentional movement he looks at where the small blond was seated, but the creature is already gone, and his blue eyes cannot search the figure out.

"Miss Lobelia took him back to their rooms, hard to spot, those Hobbits, aren't they?" Dís hooks arms with him like she did when they were young and she would have Frerin on the other side. She begins leading him with a forceful tug towards the main gate of the mountain. "They're quite the unexpected treats really." 

"There is too little we know about them." Thorin grunts though his eyes scan the crowds for a glimpse of a brown cloak. "Where do they stay?" He asks before he can halt the words in his throat.

Dís' eyebrows rise. "At the Salty River Inn, I'm not sure if you know of the place, seeing as in this is the only time you leave the Kingdom anymore, unless there’s somewhere you can swing your sword. You will see your hobbit tomorrow no worries." She is teasing him, and she knows she has the upper hand.

"He is not my hobbit. I do not know him, nor do I care much."

"You know Thorin, it is alright to be a little reckless." He looks at his sister, how close she is in height with him, how regal- and sometimes distant her air can be. 

And he is lost unsure of what she refers to.

The gate is opened just for them, and the night has been long, but it is nothing to mull over, for the nights will continue to be long, all the way until the mines of Moria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it goes. Now from here on out each chapter will have Thorin and Bilbo's P.O.V and the rest are up for surprise.
> 
> I've got a couple of implied couples that I'm still playing around with, bear with me cause it will only be mentioned based off of significance.
> 
> I like discussing things! Join me on tumblr if you have questions or anything of that nature.
> 
> Otherwise thanks for reading! Oh and I will probably go back and edit this when I've had more sleep.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is so much more than anyone could expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see, yeah finals are over and now I'm back to posting. It took me longer than I expected to get back into things and I think it's really because it pains me to say but I gotta add a chapter to this story.  
> It would have been too much to have all of the P.O.V's I was considering in this chapter.  
> So next one will have missing parts. The rest of Bilbo's, Ori's, Dís, probably Fili and or Bofur, and Dwalin. But yeah all the cards are on the table it's now time to resolve things, and open more wounds.
> 
> A little warning of some sexual content, there's nothing heavy cause it might ruin the flow of the story right now but it's all almost ambiguous cause I like to leave spaces in details- I dunno weird, yeah.

**IV**

He wakes in the dusky hours of the morning, where the sky is still painted a cloudy blue, and the sheets still linger with body heat. He is sticky and naked and beside him the cot is lowered under the weight of highly defined muscle. The dwarf sleeps and Nori finds his gaze lingering over the rough face, the many scars and large axe wielding hands, the tattoos on their surface. A noble warrior then?

Something tells him he’s about to create the opportunity for a most interesting chase.  
Nori is naught but a believer in the pleasures of life. The instant hot moments. Last night under the fiery feral muscle of the Royal Guard was a thrill.  
More than a thrill, he had wanted to trace more than a few of the tattoos with his tongue. Dwalin Fundison is not a dwarf he will forget, though he needs to be forgotten.  
There was something strong beneath it all, and it unsettles him, something pulls at his brain when they brush together firm skin, nothing was soft or dainty about it.  
The kisses were rough and Nori was a biter, he loves to tease with the sharpest nips of his teeth. And he is in control whether top or bottom.

The guard was just as great in bed, and it Nori knows he has some bruises, but he should deserve some sort of reward. He removes himself in deft grace off the sheets and spies their littered layers, the glittering armor and many weapons.  
It had been a pain in the ass trying to strip the warrior of _everything_ , took more brainpower than he wanted especially when keeping the guard from removing his clothes. A thief removes his own layers.

He decides he’s taking one of those pretty daggers for himself. The guards have it only for decoration and formalities anyways. And he’s never seen one with so much gold in it, must be of a high rank.

He dresses in a quiet manner, only one who lives with Dori could, and jumps out the window of the second story of the inn. The instant leap of the breeze as he falls punches his gut pleasantly until he grabs a thick lantern wire and it slows the pressure of his landing.

He vanishes in a group of young men folk and their women.

The mountain can be seen poking above the tower, he makes his way through the thieves’ pass, a dark thin tunnel hardly seen unless one knows the right stone to press, he nods at a all those he recognizes as they pass through with dealings and eyeing each other. All untrusting eyes. In the narrow tunnel he is cornered by a dwarf with a long scar over his eye and thick silver streaked brown braids.

“Nori, it’s been a while.”

Nori relaxes his shoulders but keeps his hands stiff to his sides. “Drevin,” He inclines his head to the left in thief’s respect. But he can hardly respect the dwarf in front of him, even if he is one of the higher ranked thieves. The dwarf steps closer in to his space so his back is against the wall.

“Shiny new dagger I see. Don’t you owe me a trinket or two?” Nori can smell the mild linger of ale and some sort of bitter food on the dwarf’s breath. He watches the dwarf’s eyes linger not only on the dagger but upon his body, clothes still a little mussed from the tryst. Thick dirty fingers hover by his collar. “Yer missin’ a coupla buttons.”

Well he did lose some things that night in his mad rush to strip.  
“No, I believe all of my debt is paid.” He says with careful words, but his smirk is to tell another story.

“Are you sure? I seem to remember yah givin’ me the slip a few nights-“ Nori tired of the conversation- opts to point the dagger to the dwarf’s throat. He draws just the thinnest line; which beneath the tied beard could release beads of blood if irritated.

“Maybe there’s a reason why.” He watches the Drevin’s face blotch red and sweeps a kick under the male’s feet knocking him over.

He runs, stepping himself into the shadows where he belongs. Pretending that he isn’t bothered by how familiar the situation it all.  
Not at all.

Back in his brother’s home Dori waits for him with hands on his hips.  
“My coin purse Nori.” Are the first words that leave his brother’s mouth.

“Damn, hello to you too.” He tosses the sack, which the elder promptly catches. 

“The other too.”

“Still workin’ on that one.” Nori ignores the glare, “food?”

“On the table” Dori sighs.  
Nori goes to see some seasoned ham slices, and of course a couple rolls, good enough. He also sees a large eagle kite taking up most of the space.

“This is pretty.” He says with a roll half bitten in his mouth. Dori smacks away his reaching hand.

“That is not for you to touch,”  
“Where you get it?”

“Broadbeams.”

“You’ve been going there a lot lately. “ He reaches for the spool.

“Don’t touch that Bifur says it should not unravel-“

“Bifur? You don’t drop the Mister for anything. Who’s this Bifur?” Nori takes a gulp of water from one of their more plain mugs. His hazel green gaze steady over the rim. His brother may be a stiff cod but he’s an attractive dwarf, well beyond average and never short of wandering eyes.

“No one, he is just a friend. Though you should keep your sticky fingers out of my business.”

“Where you goin’?” Nori continues to pry because it’s fun.

Dori is wrapping his best robe on, cheeks hardly changing color Nori almost swore he missed it.“To the market. I was invited by the lovely Lady Dís.”

Nori nearly spits out the ham he tore with his teeth. “The princess? Friends in high places finally huh Dori?”

He’s ignored again, he supposes he deserves that for stealing the coin purses.  
“Are you two arguing again?” Ori comes out of his room sleepy eyed and clutching his sketchbook, Nori feels the sting of familiarity at the sight. At least some things stay the same long enough for him not to miss it. The youngest Ri zones in on Nori. “You’re here.”  
“Figured to stay still for a moment.” In case tomorrow’s heist goes to hell and he’s executed, why not?

“Well might as well have some tea before I leave, sit you two, I had some chai steeping.” Dori bustles away to remove his kite from the space, and to probably fill their mugs. The thief groans but stays put.  
Ori comes and sits down already opening his sketchbook, occasionally his brown eyes dart to Nori.

“Hey don’t draw me like this, I know my beard’s a lil mussed.” The middle Ri teases.  
“I need a warm up sketch, don’t be so worried about your looks Nori.”  
“Good lad’s got a bite to him now.” Nori narrows his eyes at the smile on Ori’s face. “You’re in a good mood and up late.”

“He came in at the same time I did last night, quite suspicious.” Dori interjects setting down three dainty cups. Good to see he was using the set Nori actually _bought_. The three of them take their sips from their tea at the same time, each with the carefully trained pinky out. Nori drew his pinky back , damn old habits die hard. Won’t find him drinking ale like that.

“It was at the same time as you, I just wanted to see the fireworks.” Ori says tone simple and concise. That just makes it more suspicious.

“Ok who are they?” Nori points his dull knife at the youngest.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“You went with someone right? Not to be alone or anything?”

Ori begins some furious scratching with his ink quill. “That’s my business.”

Dori sputters, “And why didn’t you tell me? Who is this dwarf?“

Knowing Ori isn’t about to spill Nori stands up with a few cracks with he rolls his neck and shoulders. “Well I will be taken a quick dip in the bath, and then see you in two days brothers.” He pats Ori on the head out of habit, and refrains from patting Dori on the shoulder when he receives an icy grey glare.

 

 

Bifur keeps the shop closed today by locking the door to the two story wooden building, for even he needs a rest from all the orders. He won’t admit he spent most of his energy on the eagle for Mister Dori, but it was worth getting invited for tea in the future. He will have to take up the offer. His back door dings with a wind chime tinkle, and from the methodical steps he can tell his cousin Bombur has come to visit.

“Afternoon cousin,” The orange bearded dwarf smiles and heads to the bar that Bifur has seated himself. It is the clearest surface in the shop currently. Bifur smiles back and continues to carve thin wispy lines into a glass ball surface. He will have to ask Bofur to help him make more after Durin’s Festival is over.

“No cooking tonight?” He asks Bombur as his cousin watches him carve into the blueish-violet glass ball. The center of it is inspired yellow light, and it is one of his favorites.

“Nope, I made the pies all night so I am off duty to spend with Kiria.”

“Courtin’ going well then?” He watches his cousin blush to bright red and go silent with a nod.

“What do you think of this Bombur?” Bifur holds out the glass ball, it is a little more oval and fits well in his palm.

“It is beautiful, do you have plans for it?”

“Possibly,” Bifur shrugs, barring he goes to Moria. The rumors are running that King Thrain plans to take on the mines soon. And Once a warrior always a warrior.

“Who is the dwarf?”

Bifur is comfortable to use Bombur as his confidant, Bofur often had a loose mouth when he drank too much, and would try to meddle in inopportune moments. Though he has not seen his cousin in a good day or so, which is worrisome.

“Mister Dori, you may not be-“  
“Of the House of Ri? Dwarf with the strongest arm?” Bombur clarifies small eyes round. “Most people have heard of them, say they are a strange set and have been for generations. Good looking dwarfs though.”

“The kitchens here of everything,” Bifur grunts, “I’m not any stranger? No matter, it is just a gift, for new friends. He has been kind to me enough in the past, “ Even if he may not remember it, or know that Bifur was involved them.

“That is not just a gift cousin,” Bombur seems to take note of Bifur’s silence and changes subjects. “Recently Kiria’s human friend’s husband went missing.”

Bifur continues to carve. “Another- I wonder if Moria is where we should look.”  
“People in the food trade talk of darker roads and whisper of Mount Gundabad. Just rumors however.”

“Never turn up your nose to rumors like that cousin. Something is going on,”

“You just hang around that royal healer at the Golden Axe too much, he’s superstitious, and talks a lot of destiny.”

“We all have a right to be-“ His back door jingles again and he hears Bofur’s familiar shuffle.

The dwarf turns up smile a little brighter and braids messier. His floppy hat sits comfortable in place however.

“Afternoon gentlemen, fancy some light mead?” Of course he has three bottles which he sets on the counter.

“And where have you been?” Bifur digs out the cork with a knife, not too keen on drinking much but a bit is alright.

“Makin’ some bad choices cousin.” Bofur quips back in good humor.

Bombur opens his mouth, always the one to hear the gossip from his quiet position. “Were you with that blond prince? I saw you talking to him during the First.”

Bofur’s smile falters a bit.  
“Prince? Which Prince?”  
“One of the younger ones has taken a shine to our Bofur.” The youngest teases. “Don’t know why.”  
“Hey now-“  
Bifur ignores the two brothers as they banter, for they have been prone to that since they were little. He just continues the swirling patter, much like the thick silver pattern of Dori’s beard. Meticulous, rich, and quite contrasting to his own rough scarred hands.

 

 

Ever since the night before Frerin and Dis have teased Thorin mercilessly.

None more than his younger brother, who thrives off of having the best material against another person. Mainly Thorin. The topic this time: Baggins.

It is early evening and they must head to the main court outside the bridge, many of the collapsible gates would have been removed, leaving a large cobbled rectangle, and once again merchants and warriors, humans and dwarfs, rarely elves , will be filled with excitement most likely. Production stops for these moments.

“So are you going to court him?” Frerin asks as they stand by the ledge of the gate’s bridge, elbows to the thick stone and royal colors and furs cover their bodies in standard royal material. “Hey don’t look at me like that- it’s a valid question, you show interest in no one. And you look like you want to kill him or eat him.”  
Thorin keeps his face blank and starts to walk away.

“How would you go about courting him? Mister Gamgee says hobbits are very different.”  
“I am not courting him. It is a temporary- fascination, that borders platonic, nothing worthy of such a commitment.”

Hobbits were too strange. They are the polite, quiet sort, except for the lass, their hair was on their feet and they were soft, round not wielders of weapons, nor workers in a forge.  
“How do you know that?”

“Don’t be a dwarrowdam just coming of age Frerin,”

“Truly, I don’t think you can figure it out because you’re thinking about it too much.”

Thorin doesn’t tell his brother that around Baggins he’s drawn like a moth to wax candlelight. He is resisting every step of the way. 

 

Night two is hardly more enjoyable than night one. His nephews have been running off void of their responsibilities, the party is as large as before, though without the kites, and more ale is passed around. It is really time for the dances, which is why the party is held closer to the bridge.

Day three will be on the bridge, and day four shall take them into the kingdom itself where Erebor will be lit in all its splendor. Thorin would wish to be nowhere else in the world.

He was staring for the most part of the night, too stoic to go further and delve in conversation despite the progress made the night before. It’s because he is troubled, he watches Mister Baggins wring small hands together- fingertips round a little pink, the hobbit draws in his lower lip under his teeth when thinking, and releases it darker than it was before.

Dear Mahal he is a Prince, the heir, and his tastes have gone outside of sensible. He is lusting like a young of age dwarf than like an heir of his standard.

 

“Warriors dance, what is that?” the halfling asks Frerin. The two have been conversing for the better part of the evening, Mister Baggins seeming to be just as fascinated with dwarrows now that more of his shyness is gone.  
Dancing, Thorin dislkes it more than any other ritual- unless it was the warriors dance.

“It is when the warriors brandish their signature weapon and perform a controlled battle.” Thorin interrupts, knowing he’s probably surprised the two for speaking for the first time in a few moments.

“What he said. Thorin’s good at it, what do the dames say? ‘Light on his feet powerful with his sword?’” Frerin grins at his own double entendre and Thorin just levels him with a stare.

“Oh so you will be in the one tonight?” The innuendo seems to have flown over Baggin’s head and he directs his gaze to the eldest prince.

“Yes.”

“Well good luck, I’m sure I’ll enjoy watching.” Thorin’s stomach did clench a bit at the revelation, yes the Halfling will possibly be judging him this dance.

 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ll enjoy his skill very much, and if you’re satisfied it is customary for the Crown Prince to dance more than that, weren’t you saying hobbits are pretty light on their feet?” Frerin meddles in the best way he can. With obviousness. If Thorin could yank the two braids of the dwarf’s beard now, he would not hesistate.

 

His shoulders are pulled stiff but when he moves his sword is fluid around Dwalin’s axes. His brother is using his throwing knives with them, no longer is Hilirün there with his bow, it is still a strange sight not to see the hunter with his best friend. Nor with his sons, who will be participating with all the warriors next year.  
They slash at each other casting shadows in the fire, weapons meet, and they avoid all to the constant rhythm of the drum, it requires so much of his energy to control where his sword lands and where it will sweep next, beats of sweat trickle on his forehead but his face remains cool.

“That was wonderful, different but I didn’t imagine so much grace.” Bilbo says almost immediately when they return.

“Making assumptions of us stiff dwarves Master Hobbit?” Thorin says but makes known he is teasing with a small smile.

The pink blush under the candle light is pretty. And it gets darker when Frerin whispers something in the hobbit’s ear. Thorin doesn’t stop the threatening frown that crosses his face.

The first commoner’s dance began and Thorin was standing across the hobbit leader by some chance.

They circle each other in careful slow movements to the drums, palms touching just the slightest. He watches blue eyes, turned dark in the setting, flit nervous and try for steady,

It’s strange his partner is short, has no gold on, and no intricate braiding. And yet he does not want to switch with the group.

But the fiddle starts and the group ‘leaps’ to life with no bows, he keeps an eye on Bilbo who I smiling with a reddish bearded dwarf. Something clenches nasty and wanting at the smile, like it should belong to him. Possessive, he whirls around and stays more stoic hardly staring at the flame haired lass he just changed to.

Now Bilbo is dancing with Frerin, and still he looks very happy even more so that he knows his partner. Perhaps the hobbit likes his brother’s company for a reason.

He counts the added flute as torture until he finds himself back with Baggins.  
They of course touch arms and circle, he finds himself smiling when the hobbit laughs in delight. He looks much younger with such a weight, whatever it is, lifted from his brow. The music dies and they bow to each other.

“You look much more youthful, less brooding when you smile.” Baggins startles him with the initiation of the conversation. He nods at the compliment, and the hobbits looks- disappointed and ready to turn elsewhere. The heir feels the need to stop him.

“Walk with me Mister Baggins.” It comes out more commanding than he intends but the Hobbit, though eyes widening, nods.

And Thorin finds himself leading Bilbo to walk further from the dance floor, despite his earlier words he is curling his fingers just to keep from putting a hand on the other’s back as they travel through the crowds. They fall into a comfortable silence.

“Tell me Mr. Baggins what purpose do you have here?”

“Bilbo please, and writer’s block,” Bilbo continues, possibly due to the mild confusion Thorin feels cross his face. “There’s an adventure missing I think, and I’m trying to fill it.”

“Strange to come to Erebor for a book.”

“Perhaps, but my mother would also say: strange things are as they are meant to be, we just haven’t figured them out yet.” And that light disposition left over from the dance has gone dark. 

“Well it may be good your book has brought your here,” Thorin confesses low because he may regret the words. But the hobbit somehow catches it with those sharp ears, and the shock slowly turns to a natural smile.

“I may sound crazy, maybe it is the mead it was a little strong from before and you can stop me now, but the way you look at me. It’s more than just to ask about my purpose here isn’t it?” The hobbit’s question has Thorin clenching his hands to keep a steady pounding to his heart.

“And what if it may be?”

“I’d say I’m drawn to you in a way I’m not sure is good or not.” Thorin tilts his head and looks down at the hobbit, they meet careful guarded gazes. Thorin realizes he is not the only doubtful one in this coupling. All the more dangerous if they were to act upon simple attraction.

 

How did they end up at this point? Thorin feels his furs being pushed off of his shoulders. Small hands make quick –unexpectedly expert- work of his first layer’s clasps. Thorin in turn watches with lidded eyes, scanning the pink flush on the hobbit’s round cheeks.

Until Bilbo steps back. “I can’t, I can’t believe- I’m,” The hobbit slurs a bit and Thorin steps closer to remove the distance that’s formed.

“How will we know?” Thorin takes Frerin’s words from earlier marveling how they seem to make the Halfling pause.

The hobbit’s eyes dart to his face, darker and pupils blow under thick bronze lashes. Thorin remains silent through the question hangs in the air, because he does not break his gaze.

They can stop but he will be sorely disappointed if they do.

“”Fine,” The hobbit answers his own question by pushing forward and removing enough to reveal Thorin’s bare chest. Small hands ghost over the skin and hairs with undoubted tease, and the dwarf takes his own chance to undo the hobbit’s buttons.

“You should join me Master Baggins,” he deliberately drops his voice hoarse and quieter and the way the blond shivers minutely says he has done right. The gold vest is gone as well as the next two layers of thin cloth. Soft milky flesh is revealed, almost too soft under his own rough calloused hands, but each inch is tempting from the dusky nipples, to the hairless expanse of cream and soft belly.

Too tempting.

“Well I think we’re quite evenly matched now aren’t we?” Bilbo demurs. One night, Thorin tells himself, And all his questions should be answered.

And the hesitant is thrown to the halls, the sweetness but a lingering taste for it feels like something that has been denied a lifetime. The raw bare skin, searching hands, parted wet lips, and the need increases to a hot flame greedy at its core.

 

  
Lobelia is sweeping her long curls to tie them in a tight bun atop her head with the piece she got at the market while out with Lady Dís and Mister Dori. She wraps her red ribbons around her hands from knuckles to tips.

“Those your marks?” Nori says from his perch on their inn room dresser. Hamfast is packing his own satchels with quick salves and tying them to his waist, and Rory has been ready for the better part of the night.

“Yes, it says we are a part of the Society by how we wrap it, and that we are on a mission.” She knows the dwarf hardly asks a question more than once, and continues with her readying. She skips two daggers for her umbrella.

“That’s bright."

“Does the job better than any sword.” She’s heard the comments on her stubbornness from her own kind no need to withstand them from a dwarf.

“So what are you after Mister Nori?” Hamfast says while the silence persists in their inn room. There is nervous tension, Lobelia feels it beneath skin.

“Me? Well can we call it knowledge? Blackmail, details. Something beyond the mines of Erebor.”

“So that all you want? Its secrets?” She can hardly trust such answers.

“No.” And the dwarf’s grin is that of a predator in prime position to strike, with only a small degree of charm.

Baggins slips into the room right as the words fall from Nori’s mouth.

“Where were you Bilbo, you know we had to meet,” Lobelia nudges their leader sharp in his side with her elbow. Good he has the nerve to look ashamed.

“I apologize Lobelia, I was- out.”

“Out where? Last I saw you dancing with all those dwarves especially that-“ She widens her eyes and Bilbo tries to escape from her but she grabs his arm.

“Really? Dwarfs Baggins? But they’re so hairy!”

“Never let it be said we aren’t great in bed though.” Nori interjects from behind and Lobelia bites her lip to keep from jabbing at him. Of course he would take opportunity to sneak up while they were having _private_ conversation. “So who was it Baggins spent the night twixt the sheets with?”

“No one. It was not nearly as scandalous.”

“You smell like metal and something strong, strange, ugh can’t we give him time to bathe?” Lobelia pleads only if to torture her companion for his frequent vanishing acts.

“No we have to move now, or it’s never.” Rory says leaping off the bed, and she rolls her eyes at the elder.

“Will they notice if we are gone?” Hamfast looks to Nori for the answer.

“We will have to hope they don’t note the stolen items until well after we’ve had a chance to hide.” Bilbo responds in Nori’s stead, wrapping his green ribbons secure.

And they are following Nori in the dark, ducking through strange path alleys skirting around even shadier dwarfs and men. He leads them under the bobbing lantern lights, the city is mostly empty because of the celebration on the bridge possibly. According to Nori it would be the most opportune night, for no one would be in Dale but neither in Erebor itself.

She still thinks they don’t need the other creature, he takes them to a stone wall which has a thin pass into the kingdom. 

“From now on stick close, and stay as quiet as possible, the tunnels will get tight.” Nori warns and it is as he says. The walls are close and have them squeezing through, it is not a path made by dwarves but by the mountain itself, rocks stick out. Sometimes they crawl and the smell is wet, sodden, and stale from the inside. They seem to travel forever turning in tunnels, turning around when Nori has them meet a frustrating dead end. Dawn will be upon them soon enough at this rate, until a thin light pierces through.  
“And my hobbits, I think we have found it.” Nori pushes the opening with Hamfast’s help until they are met face first with the color gold.

“Alright lads let’s go fishin’,” Lobelia grins at the rest as they crawl into the gold glowing room. It was vast in it’s strange high ceiling shape, there were hills mounds of gold that make tinkling sounds as they fall. Gems of every color, created trinkets and dwarven craftsmanship, it was the excellence that is rumored, it is true richness, it is the epitome of greed. Her companions are breathless, where do they even begin?

“Now watch out for the fool’s gold, it will be more reddish in color and have a mark, if you touch it you can end up scarred. Just rumors of course.” The dwarf shrugs and leads the on. Lobelia is quite tired of being unable to tell if the other is serious or having them on.

They wander behind Bilbo and Nori, keeping crouched low and stealth as they maneuver through the paths. All was going well until Rory tugs on Bilbo’s cloak, and they press themselves against a pile that had many cups of varying sizes. A dwarf was wandering through a big clearing, he was pacing, his beard was grey and laced with so much gold it became metallic, his entire body is covered in gold and he mutters to himself with a crown atop his head.

“King Thror-“ She hears Nori mutter, and they are frozen as the dwarf begins to move his arms frantic and grab the nearest gold to him in his arms, flinging pieces in places as he yells.

 

The old dwarf bellows amongst his gold thrashing everywhere. “Thieves. They all want it! My gold!”

Lobelia gulps her heart humming as she watches the madness, no one comes. There are piles of plates, weapons, his eyes wide and a stone on his finger glows the brightest blue.

“He has got the sickness, I have never seen a dwarf with the sickness. It was said he disappeared with his envoy years back!”  
“The sickness, what is that?’ Lobelia stops when the dwarf walks to another mound.  
“It is gold that can drive a dwarf mad, and King Thror is far beyond it if he is living in this cage, it hardly lets go of it’s grasp. All you breathe is gold.” Nori is watching the former dignitary transfixed and Lobelia’s eyes wander.

There lying amongst the gems glitters a large jewel of purples, blues and seems to breathe a bright light.

The star jewel, this is what they came for. It calls to her and she darts swift to another pile almost slipping on the coins. She ignores Bilbo’s soft order of her name. She hears the light rustling of Nori, the rest must be following her.

Rory is the first to catch on to what she is aiming for. “Leave it Lobelia.”  
“No,” she whispers and she creeps past the gold letting it shift around her. Closer and closer, her hand grasps and it is hers. 

“Baggins, do you know what this is?” She holds it in front of him.

“That is the King’s Jewel gone missing with King Thror himself. It is an evil object.”  
“Why?”

“Because it is the heart of the mountain, it belonged to the mountain, and when it first appeared people began to disappear.”

“What would the dwarves do for it?”

Nori averts his eyes and seems to focus elsewhere. “Many things. It should be buried.”

“You’re a thief, why do you care?”

“You should know we thieves gain alternate forms of greed, we work for hire and what we want is entirely different. Still far from noble, but I would hate to bring my own ruin just at the height of my reputation.”

Lobelia curls her lip and returns to staring. “Baggins if we take this back no one can doubt our reputations, we will be hailed.” She continues, excited. “We will return it.”

“This achievement is greater than even anything Thain Belladonna has done.” Lobelia watches the conflict cross the hobbits face. “You should not have dallied with that dwarf it has muddled your goal, what about that book you speak about so much? Finish it with this.” She thrusts the gem into his chest. Knowing it was because of her he has it, it’s because of her it is there, and that is satisfaction enough.

“Back through the pass, let’s go,” Rory comes to the two as they are crouched by the gold, Nori is already opening the dark thin door, and Lobelia does not long to be in the musty tunnel.

“Take it Baggins, or I will.” She warns and they leave like shadows in the dark.

 

The next morning they are called by Gandalf for another meeting, this time small, including only the dwarfs, and apparently they want the wizard’s council. Though it seems the King continues to argue with the wizard rather than listen.  
“Concern is mounting Gandalf.” The King starts and Bilbo schools himself to stoic, or concern, he is much better at concern. He knows his companions are shifting in their own bodies, their loot from the day before is hidden as incriminating evidence under their mattresses and in the crevices of the walls, weak floorboards and their own bags.

“The disappearances, they continue to happen.”

Thorin sits stoic beside his father, he has not looked at Bilbo most of the time, despite the fact that Bilbo’s own gaze has been locked on him for most of the time. Whether he wants it to be or not.

When they do meet eyes Thorin's gaze isn't something he was prepared for the intensity, like something molten and brewing lies there. He almost forgets the promise he made with Thorin the night before, to ‘speak’ with him when they see each other next. The memory leaves him without the ability to keep attention up.

Thorin had said it while his large knuckles brushed Bilbo’s forehead. The prince was as befuddled and yet entranced b the turn of the events as the hobbit thief himself, and though they lay beside each other with but sheets and sweat and a wanton scent dissipating in the air. It has only been two days of knowing each other, and it feels further and yet foreign all in between the lines.

Bilbo didn’t regret it then. Now he thinks of the stone wrapped under his pillow. Of the former King who wanders obviously known by few, in a personal tomb of gold, made, deteriorating. What if Thorin became like that?

 

“King Thrain I will say the same words as before, you must focus on those rather than splitting it to Moria.” The wizard says leaning upon his staff.  
King Thrain seems to slump a bit more upon his throne. Bilbo feels a bit of pity for the leader.

“Father I will go with the next patrol, let me build up the guard-“ The younger Prince is cut off mid plead.

“Fine Frerin, but Thorin, you will have to start making preparations for the front.” The King says. “After Durin’s day.”

Bilbo’s throat runs dry, the male he considers _his_ dwarf prince secretly is going to war no questions asked. He has read mostly of people who die at war, especially with orcs.

 

“I would have you speak with me.” Thorin has a way of making questions demands, and though the bluntness ruffles Bilbo he is glad to be acknowledged. He once again finds himself following the prince blind without a lead.

Though something hangs heavy it’s guilt, it burns at him in the shape of a magnificent gem.

But it is only a few words exchanged before the Prince and he are kissing in the dark shade of the tall hall of Erebor, it echoes empty except them. And his fingers and clutching the front of the thick midnight blue coat the dwarf wears, hands are placed on his back, warming his spine with a want. And it is a wonder if he can leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Next Chapter should be up next week following the updates of my other two series and a few other fics I want to work on. I'm so glad to be active again.  
> Much love to any kudos, comments, bookmarks, ect!


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes a King, and what breaks one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that it’s been a month and I have nothing but this chapter to make up for it.
> 
> But I’m back, and we’ve got two more till the end!

**V**

Bilbo believes one of the chapters of his story should consist only of Thorin, maybe even more, but he believes it would encompass all that he can only speculate about a dwarf he’s only known for so long. It would end with Thorin’s reaction when he returns the bead tonight. 

Bilbo sits on the royal blue bed with nothing but his smallclothes and a large black fur draping over his shoulders. They had finished breakfast in the room none too long before, and evidence of his not leaving since yesterday afternoon was currently littered on the floor.

Thorin has been standing a little too long, he hasn’t made a move to get dressed but since that messenger dropped by the door he hasn’t bothered to return to the bed either.

“Someone has stolen from the chamber.” 

“Chamber?” Bilbo prods, but he shrinks further into the big cloak around him, his hands gripping the inside flaps tight. He watches appreciative of the shirtless form, as Thorin climbs back onto the bed and closer to him.

“The main treasury, none have gotten in before. Father is discussing with the Council suspects, there is a thriving thieves gang in the slums, a syndicate, they may have done it. He is in a mad fury, the King’s Jewel was taken. My grandfather’s stone he prized so much back in his reign. What more troubles can befall us? Orcs rise to the borders and now someone defiles what is ours.” The prince can’t hide his bitterness even under the cool tone of his voice.

“And Moria,” Bilbo whispers with an edge. Thorin stiffens under his gaze.

“You can’t expect me to drop my family’s legacy for- I can’t leave my duty behind.”

The hobbit reaches out a comforting hand. “Not that, but everyone at the meeting is against Moria. Gandalf-“ But the prince pulls away.

“Gandalf may be respected but is my father’s word that reigns in Erebor.” Thorin says, resolute.

“But what do you think?” The blond prods.

“I was born crown prince, I am heir, I do what is asked of me. The mines are valuable to our legacy-“

“Not what your father thinks. ” Bilbo stresses the word. “I’m sorry, but what do you care about?”

Thorin doesn’t pull away this time. “Whatever is best for our people,” he states. He sounds like a king, not a lover swept up in courting.

A king who puts his subjects before anything and everything. 

There is a knock at the room’s stone door. Thorin’s cerulean orbs sweep to Bilbo first, and the hobbit takes a cue to get off the bed and hide.

He runs when Thorin climbs off the mattress, and finds a corner in the room, small, close to the weapons table.

The door clicks open and heavy boot steps clink against the grey stone.

“Father.” Thorin starts and Bilbo’s heart hammers hard and quick in his chest. 

“Thorin, you’ve been here long, cooped up on the final day of the festival.” The King’s tone isn’t much different from the meetings, maybe a bit lighter and approachable, but there is neutral warmth.

“I was just resting.”

“I suppose you should, you haven’t since the start of the festival and it’s supposed to be a break.”

There is a loud clap, and the hobbit could hear beads rustle. “Now your brother had said some rather slanderous things during breakfast.”

“Like what?” The heir sounds exasperated, as if it is nothing new.

“He won’t be quiet about you and one of the Halflings.”

Thorin only grumbles. “He should not spread such things.”

“So is it true? Your brother may be a gossip, but he hardly lies.”

Bilbo waits for the answer as keen as the King probably is.

“And what of it?” The thief stifles a grin, Thorin sounds impetuous. King Thrain does laugh, for a short moment.

“I would just say Halflings are strange creatures, I never would have expected such a thing, they themselves haven’t shown much interest in anything outside of our food.” Bilbo bristles at the comment, surely they would have noticed the interest in dancing, the kites, they just had no outward interest in the gold.

King Thrain continues. “Don’t look so broody my son, I had such fun in my youth with a few dwarrowdams before I met your mother. Just remember, you go to Moria, the Halflings return to the Shire. Now I will leave you to ‘relax’.” The humor is as evident as the warning. The implication burns under Bilbo’s skin, being a hobbit makes him for a fun, exotic, but not for a Crown Prince of Erebor.

Bilbo does not feel relief at the words. If anything he feels a selfish weight heavy on his shoulders. It is the reason he’s compelled to keep the bead he stole, and run.  
It is too late, he’s let the dwarf so close when life demands other things of him. It is a bittersweet chapter in his story, maybe more than a chapter, he could live on, but he would regret what is missing.

“Curse you hobbit where have you hidden?” Thorin’s inquiry reminds Bilbo the King had left a couple minutes before. From his corner he can see a prince knelt over in his pants and tunic (Must have been grabbed before he opened the door) searching under the bed.

The hobbit snickers and creeps from his spot until he is standing behind Thorin. “Sorry I didn’t realize I should be hidden somewhere obvious.”

He smiles when Thorin jerks back in surprise and faces him. “We should prepare for the festival tonight. There is a bath connected to here, you will have the privacy you require.”

Bilbo nods and gets stuck on watching Thorin gather long dark strands into a tie. An idea struck him, a very un- Baggins idea.

“That sounds passable.” He shrugs off the coat onto the messy sheets.

“Passable, it is a royal bath you hobbits have high demands if you need more.”

Bilbo starts to gather his clothes from the underside of the bed. He looks straight at the prince. “I suppose.”

“Halfling are you offering insult?” The prince looks genuinely affronted.

“It’s not that, just maybe I’d feel a little more comfortable if you joined me. It is ‘your’ bath.” The dwarf didn’t answer but Bilbo throws the invitation to the air and makes quick steps to the doorway Thorin had referred to.

He did hear a curse in that strange guttural dwarf language, and he smiles to himself triumphant.

 

 

Ori knew something strange has taken place because Mister Balin has him running all over the library and archival scribes room of the royal quarters for the entirety of the morning. It’s the last day of the festival! The gates of Erebor are opening and the court is certainly in more panic than last year. Guards are swarming the royal quarters and throne room. Everyone is up and moving at the King's orders.

“Ori slow down you’ll pass out lad.” The silver haired medic stills him.

“Sorry Mister Oin,” Ori apologizes and slows his steps by request. 

“No use rushin’ lad, you have less chances of fate workin’ in your favor.”

“I know, I just, I have to make a lot of errands in a short amount of time.”  
Ori bows and continues to move at a pace not much slower than before. At the end stretch of the Royal quarter’s hall is jus the dwarf he’s been searching for. 

“Mister Balin,” Ori exclaims just short of breath with the scrolls piled in his arms. The dwarf turns, the previously unreadable expression on his face lightening.

“Ah yes Ori did you get those archives I needed?”

“Yes yes, and the map too,”

“Good lad. I’m sorry for working you so hard this morning.” Balin takes the scrolls and pats Ori on the shoulder. “Take the rest of the day, please it’s Durin’s Day.”

“Right, sure, thank you Mister Balin, but if you need anything just send for me I still don’t have much to do today so I’m willing to-“ He hears footsteps nearing them.

“Go have fun lad- ah Prince Frerin, just the royal I need to hunt down.” Balin waves over from behind Ori, and the scribe turns to see the prince and his two nephews. The nephews are dressed in royal Durin’s day garb with thin circlets atop their heads, the clothes are far richer than Ori could imagine and both wear different shade of the royal blue. His gaze travels to Kili and his long coat with the silver threading, most likely actual silver thread, in dwarfish runes.

Kili grins when they meet eyes and Ori smiles back discreet.

“Prince Frerin you’re not in proper attire.” Balin raises a bushy white brow at the hunting armor the prince wears.

“I’ve got patrol before the festival start” Prince Frerin shrugs the shoulder his quiver rests. “In fact I should possibly get going,”

A dangerous glint appears in the royal advisor’s eyes. “I’ve been needing your signature for at least a week.” Balin grabs the prince by the arm and ignores the excuses the raven haired dwarf tries to expel.

“Ori, were you just let off? Why don’t we go for a walk?” Kili shoots a strange look to his brother “We can go to Dale for a little while,” and his grin becomes wider when he looks back at Ori expectant. Fili rolls his eyes and nods to the scribe before leaving the two alone.

“I would have liked to stop home first but I suppose I can do that later.” He replies as Kili sidles closer to him.

Ori likes Kili, he knows that much, he has for years and when Kili approached him about a relationship he almost thought it was a joke.  
Then the prince kept coming back.

Kili leads him down towards the commoners’ corridors, to a thin darker pass.

“You want to take this pass?” Ori inquires, hesitant. 

“Hardly anyone comes out here. I just know it’s a great place to get to Dale while escaping the guards” Kili dons a mischievous grin.

Ori snatches his hand away. “You’re a prince, that’s dangerous if you go down these places.”

Kili takes off his crown and puts it in the satchel around his waist. “We’re just passin’ through to the market. It’s late morning, we should be alright, c’mon.”

Kili and Fili were notorious for their curiosity and adventures and they could actually afford to get in trouble. More than once has Ori been swayed by the youngest prince’s impish face, including now.

Ori stays close as they go through the thin dirty road, it’s dark, the festival lanterns have escaped this place and he feels a sense of somberness he hasn’t felt in a while.

His family did live in a neighborhood like this once, when he was really young, in the tall crammed living spaces, too small and close, carved out of simple stone. Back when their mother was alive, but then Dori got his tea shop, and Nori got in trouble one too many times, so they moved.

It is something he likes to forget, the glassy look in the dwarrow’s eyes as they pass through, few pay them any mind, too busy in their daily duties, or they go back in their homes.

Kili comes to a sudden stop and Ori bumps into his back.

“What is it?”

 

“M- maybe we should turn around?” Kili stutters, sounding a tinge nervous.

‘Why?”  
He hears it before he can make it out. The clash of steel. There are three dwarfs surrounding one, the one deflects another attempt. More seem to loom around, onlookers, maybe, or more goons.

Auburn hair, the three pointed hairstyle.

“That’s Nori,” Ori is moving before Kili can stop him, he is hardly thinking when he pulls out his slingshot and a stone.

“Ori what are you-“

The shot hits square in a dwarf’s eye and the shriek of pain drew enough attention. 

“Kili go back to the royal quarters.” He says before he takes off to join by his older brother’s side.

“What are you doing Nori?” Ori helps his brother up from the crouching position.

“The hell is this Nori? This one of those partners of yours?” One of the unpleasant dwarfs say.

“He’s got nothing to do with it.” Nori snaps, already brandishing two daggers in his hands.

“You stay away from my brother.” Ori snaps.

“Your brother,” The dwarf he assumes in the leader leers at him, “Owes me-“

“I paid you.”

“With stuff I ain’t seen before. Drevin says he saw you creepin’ around with a new team of strange creatures yesterday, and now you have gold.” The dwarf with an ugly scar running across his nose holds an axe in his hand and his shoulders drawn back. 

“Drevin should keep his rusty paws out of my business, or I’ll cut him up more.” Nori still holds his cool, and the scribe finds himself admiring that because they’re slowly becoming surrounded by a couple more.

It’s a power play, a greedy one, Nori’s shown up with too much to pay off his debt and now they want more. Ori’s mind is reeling, he knew Nori dealt in some shady business, but how many people could his brother owe? And where could he get so much gold so fast.

“You’re not seeing a coin more.” Nori says his eyes dart to Ori however and they meet gazes. He looks worried. “I can handle this, when they strike, get out of here.”  
“You can’t order me around, especially for something so idiotic.” Ori scoots closer to Nori his slingshot held out and loaded again. He doesn’t try to make out faces, there’s dwarf with the scar on his nose, the dwarf who leered before with dark hair, two more dwarfs with short swords, one with a big hammer and an odd blue beard, and there were two out of peripheral.

Odds against them by a decent amount, not impossible, but against them.

If Dori were here it’d be an even fight.

The dwarfs didn’t even warn with an attack, they moved lumbering and Ori found it hard to keep shooting them vital places, it aggravated them even more. Nori slashes at one, and Ori elbows another in his rather large nose, and tosses him over his shoulder.

“Dori’s been teachin’ you eh Ori?” Nori comments as he ducks another blow.

“I think I learned that one from you.” Ori replies taking a couple steps back.

Hammer wielder aims a slow blow for the scribe’s head and he ducks down, not expecting it to do much.

But instead the hammer comes crashing down and the large criminal roars in pain as his arm is twisted back.

“And what exactly are you two doing?” The silver haired elder serves a severe punch, Ori winces as a crunch in the big dwarf’s jaw is heard.

“Dori?”  
“Fuck.”  
The two youngest say simultaneously.  
Another younger voice yells and there is a flurry of wild brown hair as Kili leaps in front of Ori with a wild grin, parrying a short sword.

“Kili I told you to go back!”

“I went to find a bit of help- oh and ran into your brother, sorry.”

If Dori wasn’t the help.

“Clear the area or meet the axe of the Captain of the Erebor Royal guard.” The gruff voice of Mister Dwalin announces, he has two long axes in hand, and it’s just him, not that it doesn’t make him a single dwarf army. Ori had always liked Mister Dwalin, they both shared a love for cookies and right now he really liked him for deflecting a blow aimed at Nori’s head.

Ori loaded another stone and shot the creep leader in the eyes. The brown bearded dwarf covers his face and takes another few slices from Nori’s dagger.

“Fall back.” The dwarf yells, one of them throws down a pouch, and smoke fills the area, the corridor is emptied of threats, leaving only dust and blood droplets and a couple of the ones that fell to Nori’s dagger, one who still has the gold hilt sticking out of his back.

 

“Friends in high places Ori?” Nori breathes out, he cracks a little smile. 

“Ori are you alright, what are you two, no what were you thinking,” Dori starts to pat down his younger brother. And the assistant feels smothered as Dwalin stands nearby, inspecting a couple of the corpses, and Kili rather close.

“Oi Dori, I can pay you back now.” Nori swipes a coin pouch from one of the bodies and tosses it to the eldest in the purple over coat. He catches it without a glance away from Ori.

“This is no path for a prince, nor my brother’s scribe to go down.” The Captain turns to the final corpse. 

“I’m sorry, we were heading to the market, and-“ Kili tries.

“To the market, with who? You! The one who almost barreled me, wait a moment,” Dori’s attention and sharp grey glare lands on Kili who twitches. “Is Ori helping with you something, young prince?”

“Ah-Ah yes, he is Mister Dori, we were going to the market before the ceremony to find, quill ink, for- drawings,” ochre eyes widen and the prince stutters, Ori puts a little space between them.

“Yes, Prince Kili was helping me, and maybe we should get going now,”

“Which is it, is he helping you or are you helping him?” Dori pries his glare smoldering.

“This is my dagger, you!” Dwalin swears and turns to Nori who had been in the midst of tiptoeing away in the dissipating smoke.

“Right- forgot about that, you can have it back, I will just be-“

“Thief, I need to take you in for questioning-“

“You see, I’m busy at the moment, celebration and all, how about you come for me later, you know in more than one way,” Nori takes steps back as Dwalin moves forward. “What? Not entertaining in the least? I know you’re titillated, you have to be.”

“You stole from a guard?” Dori bellows his face turning pinker.

“To be fair I planned on returning it the next time we met for a little sword battling, if you know what I mean.” 

Ori and Kili exchange grimaces at the over informative statement.

“You, thief, are under arrest by order of the-“

“Can we just call it even for now? You’ve got it back.” Nori’s back hits one of the walls of the slum homes. The thief glances up. 

Dwalin is but a few inches from Nori, and Ori really thinks his brother has done it this time, he tugs at Kili’s sleeve. 

Never say a dwarf form the line of Ri doesn’t take advantage of a situation. Dori is distracted, he should really run or Kili might end up like one of the dwarfs on the floor. Not dead of course, but missing a limb is possible.

“You are under arrest.” Dwalin states again. “By order of the Captain of the guard. Thief.”

“Oh come on you weren’t saying such nasty things the other night.”

Ori watches Dwalin’s face turn a darker red, and get stonier, while Nori’s visage becomes more predatory. 

Then Nori jumps up swift and grabs onto one of the low rickety balconies. Dwalin brandishes his axes, and the middle Ri brother swings his feet forward. He lands briefly on Dwalin’s shoulder, kicking the guard, and avoids the swing; the next moment he takes a leap and he’s running down the corridor, and Dwalin is chasing after him in a rage Ori has never seen.

“Running from the guard, this is a mess, where are you going Ori- I am not finished-“ Dori’s scolding voice drifts after them.

“We are going to the commoner’s pass. We have to go to the Dale market for –“ The scribe is dragging his lover by the hand down the opposite way his other brother ran.

“Knitting,” Kili exclaims unhelpfully.

“Shut up,” Ori smacks Kili. 

“Oh well then I am coming with you, I have to meet someone in the market anyways.” Dori starts to follow behind them and Ori only can hope they will lose him in the crowd.

“My brother, you went and got my brother?”

“He ran into me, and I didn’t know what to do, I was telling Dwalin and I think he heard your name, and I really just wanted to get back and help you,”

Ori smiles when Kili hangs his head, unsure, biting his lower lip.

“Thank you for coming back,” Ori squeezes Kili’s hand. “Though that was really stupid of you.”

“Are you two holding hands?” Dori all but shrieks. Or maybe he does shriek.

“Your brother scares me. Both of them.” The brunet shudders. 

“You haven’t even been threatened by Nori yet. Quick this way.” Ori ducks in between a group of humans in a way that Nori would surely be proud. Wherever he was.

 

 

If Bofur was honest with himself he wishes he were drunker the night he slept with Fili. And that he could hardly remember every moan, blush, and burning sensation. Because he's a realistic dwarf and no matter how much the blond addiction demurs he doesn't know how far a miner can go with pretty princes much younger than them. And he wishes this were just a fun little game like he tells Bombur. 

"Bofur," the prince pulls him by the wrist. Off the path where he is meandering to the mountain. Evening has already set on the outer city. And Bifur declined joining him to the mountain, saying he was waitin’ for someone.

"A little shady isn't it lad?" They were in one of the small crevices between buildings in Dale, people continue to pass by them without a glance down their direction.

The blond lets go of his wrist and looks around a little sheepish. He’s wearing a circlet, most likely mithril, and it suits his braids and cold hair like that. Not outlandish and outshining the mane. And his silvery blue tunic drapes on his form rather nice, especially cinched by a wide belt.

"I just wanted to talk to you away from prying eyes," the mumble caught him off guard. Though the prince does draw his shoulders back straighter. "Are you going to the castle for the final festival?"

“Yeah performin’, and wouldn’t miss some good ale.” Bofur grins, and he doesn’t miss the way Fili’s face brightens. It’s a brilliant look, and a little warming to know he could make it happen. 

“It’s not yet sundown.” The prince takes a suggestive tone, like the two nights ago when he whispered in Bofur’s ear.

“I hadn’t noticed.” The sarcasm doesn’t escape Bofur’s tone.

“Everyone was busy, and Kili ran off somewhere with his ‘secret lover’”

“So you’re just bored?” The miner jokes.

“Oh no, those are just to excuses that sounds the best.” Fili’s smile becomes less seductive and more approachable. “Bofur. I think you should join me to the ceremony.”

“I am going.”

“No I mean, as my partner. Durin’s Day partner.”

The miner taps his fingers against the nearest surface, Fili’s blue eyes waver, like they want to fixate on the cobblestone more than hold his gaze. The lad looks more serious than he’s seen him.

“Is that wise with your family?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not a part of the ceremony.” The blond takes in a steady breath. “It doesn’t matter, we should go together.”

 

“Don’t think that’s a good idea.” Bofur turns his attention to some scraps of a kite that blow by in the evening wind.

"Would you say that if I wasn't prince?"

"You’re young." Now it’s Bofur’s turn to throw out excuses.

"Bofur I don't care you're my one."

"Urban legend." Fili looks a little stung at his response.

"Be that it may, take me seriously I know I don't want anyone else and I don't really care- “

“Give it time lad, you might not think that when a noble passes your fancy.” Bifur used to say Bofur likes to take stabs at himself, just to avoid a situation.

“I’m joining my Uncle to Moria, when his campaign leaves.” And that stops Bofur in his tracks, he opens his mouth slight and then closes it. The blond looks surer than he sounds. “Grandfather suggested it, that I earn a name as a warrior. Kili is joining Uncle Frerin on border guard, and I’m going to reclaim Khazad-dûm.”

“My cousin signed up for that campaign today,” Bofur says in a quiet voice.

“And you?” Fili prods; he remains in close proximity to the miner.

“I’m a miner, I’ll be there either way by some point.” Bofur smiles even if he doesn’t feel it, “But you’re-“

“A warrior, a prince, and of age.” They bump noses and Bofur nearly goes cross-eyed trying to match the determined blue gaze. “And I make my own decisions, you can’t convince me otherwise. What I want to know is your decision.” The prince’s hands are on either side of the wall that Bofur is against.

Bofur waits, not too long, trying to stir circular thoughts in his head, but in the end he just gets more frustrated, and the weight in his loins is increasing the closer Fili is. 

“Well I’ve never been good at thinkin’ far in the future.” He’s unprepared for the relief that just melts away the stony expression of the dwarf in front of him, but he is prepared for the soft lips, and clink of the mustache braids when Fili dives in for a kiss.

The sky has gotten more like a midnight blue, and when the prince’s knee pushes itself between Bofur’s thighs, the brunet figures they’re going to be a little late.

 

 

“Mister Gandalf, and how are you this evening?” The Princess is cordially to one of their esteemed guests. Better than having to speak with the elves, Frerin is better at that.

“Why I’m fine Lady Dís, I am just fine,” The wizard’s smile is simple, but it is weak, as if he is fine but his empathy prevents anything further. She presses for conversation, for she has hardly had a chance to speak with him.

“And where are your Hobbits?” She is surprised her new friend Lobelia isn’t there when they are expected for the biggest party of the year.

“Yes well they are running round here some where. Hard to find, those hobbits, unless they mean for you to.” Gandalf gestures in good nature to the crowd and Dís nods deciding to make her way to the throne.

Her friend crosses her path in a pretty, and it seems new, dwarfish make green dress, that umbrella still attached to her hip.

“Lobelia! How are you my friend?” The hobbit lass smiles at her and her smooth face makes her look like nothing more than a little tween.

“I am well Lady Dís,” She curtsies minutely and Dís returns the gesture. “I actually have been looking for you.”

“You have yet to come over to tea, after the celebration you must come by, tomorrow or the day after,” Dís admonishes the younger female.

“I’m sorry m’lady, but we will be off too soon, I’m sorry I couldn’t come by more often-“ 

Dís’ eyes widen and she laces her hands together. “Soon, how soon?”

“Tonight.”

Dis pauses, and her gaze is drawn to her brother, Thorin looks no different in his corner of the crowd, whispering to his hobbit despite curious eyes. They stand too close for friends.

“And Mr. Baggins-“

“He comes back with us as well.”

“Without Mister Gandalf?” She knew the wizard was staying for a few more meetings concerning the patrol of Dale, though he is known for leaving when he chooses. The brunette shakes her curls.

“No not Mister Gandalf, we must make haste back to the Shire.”

“But is it safe?” 

Lobelia looks unsure, nervous and more flighty than she has any other night. She has not mentioned her leaving with Dís before, in fact they had looked forward to at least a few more days to enjoy each other’s company.

“We will manage, we hobbits may not be the best travelers, but we are quite good at staying alive and out of trouble,” A mischievous gleam passes the lass’s blue eyes, and Dís once again is looking in her older brother’s direction.

“Baggins will miss him, he may even write, but our lives are too different for any pursuits not to be silly. He is an average hobbit, he will be out of Prince Thorin’s mind soon.”

Dís feels the defense rise in her brother’s favor. “My brother does not love easily. And oftentimes us dwarfs only truly love once.”

Lobelia startles at the term. “Yes well Baggins will not make the first move.”

“My brother is worth fighting for.”

“That may be but Bilbo Baggins is a respectable hobbit with his own post in The Shire, he will not drop everything for something as silly as gold and royalty. Your brother may be worth fighting for, but Baggins is too complacent he will work with what he believes is best for the other person, and.” The hobbit lass bores her eyes on the princess. “He will not do the fighting if your brother does not hit him over the head with his intentions. They’re doomed.”

A gong vibrates through the hall the first sign that the ceremony should begin soon. Dís sees Kili run by in Balin’s direction, and she has yet to see her other son.

“Well I see you must go, I’m going to return to my companions, we will probably not see each other after this. I think us hobbits have had enough of gold, gems, and star like stones for a lifetime.” 

Dís’s smile is small, and she’s surprised with a hug from the hardy hobbit lass but accepts it. A glint catchers her eye. 

“Miss Lobelia I do like your new hair ornament.” It is all gold, she had not seen such a delicate fabrication, it is as fine as any dwarf in the kingdom could make, it fit like a pin to the gathered side curls. Her mother had a set like it.

The lass’s eyes harden to a darker blue. “Thank you, it’s one of my souvenirs, I really did enjoy this kingdom and I’m glad to take back something. Maybe one day I will send it to you if you truly like it, I will grow tired of it soon enough I’m sure.” The hobbit’s face is similar to a little imp, her smile curls humorlessly, and they bow to each other before the small girl is lost in the rush.

Dís pauses and watches her friend disappear. What an odd change.

When she takes her seat by the throne she still can’t shake the feeling. Dís has a sense to tell something is going wrong before it’s usually expressed. She’s surrounded by males in her family, of course she would. She wasn’t gifted a daughter, though Mahal knows sometimes she almost threatens to treat either one of her sons like one if they continue to break into her weapon pantry. 

Frerin hasn’t shown up yet, the lighting ceremony has commenced, the halls are decorated as she ordered, gold lanterns hang from the ceiling casting shaped shadows on their high walls, her father sits on the throne, Thorin to his right, and she is to his left. Frerin’s seat is empty, even Fili came walking in with a dwarf she has not seen before, they stand rather close.

Her sons have been keeping secrets lately.

Hilirun said they were nearing the age. Her golden husband’s memory still leaves her like hollow iron.

Frerin isn’t here. It runs through her mind when the drums start, when the ale is passed. When he father stands and spreads his arms, gold glints on his fingers too bright, he speaks the traditional words in Khudzul and then translates to. 

“On this day, Erebor thrives anew, another Durin’s Day.”

She does not want this year, they will go to Moria, they will fight orcs on all sides, her sons will leave her.

As the bands begin to play a guard comes up to her father’s side.

The guard whispers, Dís knows her, she’s one of the few female guards, and a great sparring partner. 

Thrain’s face is grim.

“I need more information.”

On the other side Thorin rises, as curious as Dís.

“Few made it back, none know if the others live.” The dwarrow warrior explains.

“A mist you say?” Her father's voice is above a whisper at that point.

“Like darkness is what the messenger says.”

“And what of Frerin?” Thorin persists.  
The guard, Hera Dís remembers, hesitates, her red eyebrows drawn together. “They are still searching.”

“What, is he searching with them?” Her father rasps, his fingers grip the sides of his arm rests. “My son, where was my son last?”

“He was engulfed by the strange darkness, they haven’t stopped searching yet, though they are afraid.”

“Get more guards.” Her father yells, and the throne room began to quiet. “Get more on the search, my son is out there!” There is a mad fury in his eyes. And Dis doesn’t know why she looks to where the hobbits are, they seem as confused, and lost as the crowd. Gandalf is standing at this point, the wizard makes his way over. Dis looks at Lobelia, the hobbit lass put a hand to her hair ornament, and it seems unconscious. 

Now she remembers, at a time like this. There are only three hairpins of that make, all three were sent to the chamber after their mother passed, her father could not take the grief, the reminder that his wife wore them every day.

Lobelia mentioned a star like stone, that should be by her grandfather’s tomb, for the King’s Jewel remains with King Thror.

Dís feels as if a shadow has taken over her insides, and made her cold and unable to grasp anything, not even her husband’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dwalin got cut from this because I want the chase to last longer than I had room for in the arc of this chapter.
> 
> Hopefully some things are coming together.
> 
> Next Chapter: The bead, Nori's ultimate motive, and Frerin's fate.  
>  ~~At this rate I think there might be a sequel~~

**Author's Note:**

> So next chapter Bilbo meets a band of dwarfs and royalty, Lobelia is not impressed, and the hobbits begin to plan their heist.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, honestly I don't know why Frerin also popped up as a character, maybe because I didn't want him glossed over and I actually want him and Dís to be more prominent than I thought.  
> I read somewhere on tumblr a headcanon for Frerin's looks being Gerard Butler, and I kinda think that's pretty probable. 
> 
> Additional pairings will be had, but they are up in the air. I just know they will include pretty much all the dwarfs that could fit together. 
> 
> Any opinions on it can be discussed on tumblr! Reach me at pandamani.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
